Kim Kim Terry Tim was strolling anonymously in a park in Seville when she noticed a poet weeping in the shade of a creeping tree
She placed her hand on the poets shoulder and enquired of his grief
He handed her his black notebook
It contained a poem
About his afterlife
Wallpaper
It was called Wallpaper
It was a poor poem called Wallpaper
Wild palms and white light
Will accompany me on my journey
To that little cup
In the hills near the sea
Where I will feel
The breezes of the next world
The aching alleys of despair
Will no longer be my companions of dread
For as I travel in the azure blue
The warm sun and the trellis tip trees
Will shade me from
The sad bough architecture
Of the timid.
For under those hills of no self worth
There lays not broken
The high haze celebration
Of the victorious.
On the previous evening Kim Kim Terry had watched a short movie called Seville which was about three friends
Two men and a girl
Who were travelling around Spain
One day the found a bridge
High above a river
They climbed on to parapet
But only one of them jumped
And was killed by a passing ship
His friends were grief stricken
And also jumped in his memory
A few days later
But they survived
As did Kim Kim when she repeated the jump
At exactly midnight
On the sixth day of the sixth month
On the evening of her adventure
She had met a poet
Who held her clothes as she jumped from the bridge
He gave her a copy of his latest poem
It was called Carmen Saeculare
If you stare
at the curved light
and listen
to the twisted tongues
of the earth song
you will be aware
of her disguise
and will share
the memories of her landscape
and the mediocre farewells
of the bonfires of the moon.
She placed it between her teeth as she jumped
But lost it in the river
The poet had anticipated this
And gave her a copy when she returned
Later as the lay in bed together
He gave Kim another poem
It was a poor poem
Written in a mirror style
So she placed it on to her breast
And read it
Reflected
In the poets eyes
It was called
The Banishment
I am but the errant child
Void of its mother’s womb
Seduced at once
By the giggling rages
Of the daughters of joy
I am now prodigal
Distant from the offers of friends
And alone
Save for my vagabond shadow
Lit by the spit white grey ghost suns
That follow and hide
The fine words
That my lungs congest
Locked in my vision of centuries.
Kim Kim stroked the head of her poor poet
She had visited the city in anticipation of meeting a major poet
But had only met poor ones
One had wept
And the other
Was laying on her breast
She wondered if she should have loved the weeping poet
And wished him to be at her side
3 X 2 = 6
2 X 3 = 6
3 + 3 = 6
1 x 6 = 6
2 x 2 + 2 = 6
3 x 1 + 3 = 6
Kim Kim Terry was sitting cross-legged on the lush carpet of her hotel room
Both poets had left her and she had promised herself that she would read no more poor poetry
And would not sleep with any poor poets no matter their emotional state
She looked at her dishevelled bed
Carmen was lying asleep
Kim Kim Terry Tim covered the gypsy with a white sheet
But not before kissing her on the heel
The police are after me you know
Why?
Because my lover has killed me
Kim Kim Terry noticed that blood was beginning to stain the white sheet
She pulled the sheet back and found a dagger thrust deep
Remove the dagger from my heart and then leave this wretched room
This is the room of the poets
Never entertain a poor poet as you will only receive soiled verse
Kim Kim dressed and left the hotel
She was approached by another poor poet
Near my verse
You are near my verse
Kim ignored the poet and searched for the Viking ship
It was sailing under the bridge where the traveller died
But she did not feel any sadness
She saw his torn body trapped by the weeds at the bottom of the river
Jump my sweet
Jump and join me in these depths
A police car stopped on the bridge above
There she is there is the woman who killed Carmen
They aimed their guns at Kim Kim and fired
She felt the bullets rip through her heart
As she fell on to the wooden deck of the Viking ship
Did the peasants tired
From their earthly toil
Once return along this shaded way?
Do the small trees
Still bear the scars
Of their quiet passing?
In the dappled green grey
Are we still the children
Of their sad lives
Or has beauty saved the world?
One of the Vikings was writing the poem in Kim Kim Terry’s blood as it flowed freely beside her
Why are you not trying to save me?
Because the police bullets have ripped your heart apart
You have no feeling now
As she died Kim Kim Terry Tim felt the Viking lift up her body up and throw it into the river
She became tangled in the weeds
She saw the actor from the movie
Join me on the bridge in five
Where in time we will dive
Kim Kim Terry left her clothes in a pile
She was holding the hand of the movie actor
Have you ever experienced life?
Have you really experienced life?
He said as they jumped into the river
Kim Kim left her clothes in a pile
She was holding the hand of the movie actor
Have you ever experienced life?
Have you really experienced life?
He said as they jumped into the river
Kim left her clothes in a pile
She was holding the hand of the movie actor
Have you ever experienced life?
Have you really experienced life?
He said as they jumped into the river
Kim Kim left her clothes in a pile
She was holding the hand of the movie actor
Have you ever experienced life?
Have you really experienced life?
He said as they jumped into the river
Kim Kim Terry left her clothes in a pile
She was holding the hand of the movie actor
Have you ever experienced life?
Have you really experienced life?
He said as they jumped into the river
Kim Kim Terry Tim left her clothes in a pile
She was holding the hand of the movie actor
Have you ever experienced life?
Have you really experienced life?
He said as they jumped into the river
Her name was Christine and she was fighting in the Spanish Civil War
Her lover was called John
They met in a wheat field
She was bleeding from a bullet to her heart
He removed her white shirt
And bandaged her wound
I am afraid your heart has been shot to pieces
But Carmen forgives you
Christine was strolling anonymously in a park in Seville when she noticed a poet weeping in the shade of a creeping tree
She placed her hand on the poets shoulder and enquired of his grief
He handed her his black notebook
It contained the story
Of her afterlife