mumbling jack

Whisky in hand

he points to the stars,
points to his diamonds

he walks to and fro,
scratches his head and

looks into his whisky
flask and mumbles to

me, "walking down
the side-walk...

then... at night...
the stars... then,

in bed... she tries to
stab me... with a knife

in the back."
Rocking side to side

he takes a deep breath
and makes a toast,

"that's love that is."