For Every Tib and Tom Cat


31. the fourth man now

By-passing the onslaught

The first man forgotten

discarded at the side of the road

the second though relentlessly behind me

burnt to a crisp

a filthy piece of brittle coal and yet behind me



intent on “getting” me.

I went up to him

such a sorry sight now

burnt to a crisp

burnt by the sundry conflagrations from the many traffic accidents

fiery crashes he’s been involved in

plenty plenty

by now plenty indeed

and roasted by the sporadic bolts of lightning

and stained black by the smokes of the heavy trucks

and him undeterred

without compunction

nothing doing

as yet as hipped as ever on getting me

and thus whirringly

annoyingly rolling behind me


a bolt-blighted scarecrow

a hurricane-trashed dummy

perfunctorily preposterously


mounted on a rickety plank with scratchy castors underneath

his knuckles crumbling on the pavement

and insisting

a doomed damned maniac

on getting at me

on getting me.

I grew fed up with the bowel festering and the stomach rot

of having him all the time stuck to my ass

a saw-toothed rat gnawing at my ass

persecuting bothering stalking

stabbing wounding infecting

went to his cripple’s cart and

kicked it

threw him skidding into the middle of the road

let the heaviest speeding truck get him

smash him once and for all.

I had taken his monomaniacal pursuit at the beginning as just a joke

but now it was telling on me

I was jumpy

not myself

a wreck

I said: I’m going to the cellar to get some more wine

but instead I became the fourth man

I disguised myself and escaped through the kitchen door

into anonymity

into fucking anonymity

far from the other men...

Dressed in a tight black disguise

as if burnt to a crisp

I ran into the night

and he nowhere to be seen

perhaps still with his burnt night-black face

intent on the front windows

peering inside with the dead holes of his eyes

and the hunted haunted third man

left nervously imbibing with the guests

and joking emptily

and fussing with the goodies on the table

and watching his back

watching his back all the time.

Never so well

Never so well


anyocs de nyacs!

who the 'ell?

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,