It was shop-lifted crazes piled up in his closet
amongst scavenged porn, fly-tipped on building sites.
It was a knotted Durex, slowly burnishing to gold
that we knew how to locate, on which branch.
And when we hunkered on his bed with the monoplayer on
it was the irreconcilable void between the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive"
and "The Great Rock and Roll Swindle" with its dead fawn.