What a strange sex act this is! In bed with
The plot straight from the pages of a book - mine.
In the throes am I with the old, dead Turks;
And my life now caught up in theirs for good.
The black Serb I know, the star of daydreams
Don't go back to Belgrade, else you'll soon die.
My life caught up with poor Black George - long gone
Engine of Serbia's first Uprising
Whose calculations scarred the Ottomans
Whose maths now disrupts my hope of sleep.
The British opened up the scar tissue
The penniless Empire bled to its death.
How did it happen, I ask myself, confused?
They must have lacerated you all ways.
Fate decided in a great Balkan mess
Like so many others before yourself.
Yet you clung on for years: ten, they say, more.
But time had long since caught you up. It's done.
Except in the minds of those who think you.
Bed-time cleaved by Karadjordje and England.
I wonder about the butterfly effect.
The law of unintended consequence.
I dare to smile at a stranger else I
Utter an unwise oath at the wrong time.
And the squeezed world in which I live is stretched
Asunder. Who wants to re-align it?
Not me - but these borders are mine to skew.
I don't detonate hell with just one kiss.
Such is for the empire-stealing classes.
I to the universe does not commute.
