Fox Cut. (Revised).

A cat rubbing her back seductively
Against the pliant - plaintive music -
The slow - dead beat - tear choked - heart stopped -
love warped music
Of an old time saxophone played on a cold street corner
In an old time town by a lacrimose rain drenched loner
Wearing a blue - black raincoat and a grey fedora,
A cigarette butt in his ear.

This is the Fox Cut.

This is the moment of unseen truth
for the on screen lovers
in the back of a Buick
or way upstairs in a curtained bedroom
with the lights turned low
and the latch pressed down on the apartment door.

This is the moment I could kill that cat
And drown the saxophonist in an oil drum of whiskey
And trample his saxophone on the cinema floor
Before walking out in a hurry.

I don`t care if the film is eighty years old.
I don`t care if the film is a Hollywood classic.
I hate to be cheated of the moment of truth.
I want a lay - not a lie - for my money.

The cat rubs her back with seductive slyness
Against the waft and the weft of the wintry music;
A Freudian dream swap that blocks us from spying
The flagrant anarchy of new love.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 24th. - 25th. 2020.