Grimbeau

See, I forget my drift!

I have lost me moorhens.

Scattered mummeries

of the dreams we left behind

in the service station

on a  beige plastic table

stuck on a wet floor

A low and rhythmic

mopper

mops

somnambulances.

I see myself in a documentary,

a lone rider resting before the next crusade.

Infidel Castro,

beard and cigar,

flying down to Rio for the show:

No chance of light,

tonight

Knight.