tender
with steel balconies is Angel John
trotting down Victoria Avenue
all made of gold-sky of nickel and sky
of plastic-sky

oh, I couldn’t have imagined this
lucky me running into you, honourable
Angelus Bulljohn! At this late hour
only bobbies keep filching on a branch
above the junction. But you know
better than me the road to 6 and
a half Inferno Street. Come on, pls,
I have tickets to theatre queue
to the post-office and gestures
at skirt

slender
John Angel was rolling me in a ladle
over the market – while walking he
was training the cannon or cracking
his whip-flavoured tail

I was screaming – alalas, Don Giovanni!