hard boiled


hard boiled
by Michael Hier
        There stands the glass …
drink rings on the table
like policemen's wives
has worked on a drink
or two
dark air
a fistful
and we drank
it shows definitely just what must happen
enough sex appeal to kick
and watches as you shed your manners
it has worked on the boulevard
you can't pin that much wanted to the boulevard
it has worked on adventure
all paws in each successive
I listen for
the stampede, a private dick on adventure,
detective, sugar
nobody yelled at the air
dark air
it shows definitely just what must happen
in the rest
a guy in front
glass stomach reaction and poisoned myself
with the newly washed fingers of black coffee
you better detective
three empty shells in front
and quite ruthless
here's how people get
the rest
        That will ease all my pain …
a murder
close to be something other
we stepped inside
the stolen bank loot
a lot
half of a lot
of shooting
or some other
the rim of shooting
just for the victims found blood
raindrops tapping icily
a drink
a guy
in his lower belly
        That will settle my brain …
falls out of the music
the big sleep
it might serve
you're washed up
on paper
gets them could be
hypochondriac little man
the minutes drag by
scribes who have my hat brim low
and finishing my drink
he had an undertaker smile
his left eye is glass
he had an undertaker scenery
washing his number
and identical circumstances
each time
the method of mouth
thinking of good mouth
thinking of cold sea
thinking of the victims found blood
the villain
it's worth, just for the villain
to be flirting with this gag
        It's my first one to day …
occasionally nice
confused voices
his left eye is glass
as much of the English translation
it sometimes saves embarrassment
in lean dark clothes
or worked
occasionally the boulevard
and very good-looking
in the nice of a cup
looks in character
knows darn well
oiling my vital organs
this kid's editors
and readers
he knows something
like that wouldn't be
white light gonged
hungering for fun
she approached me
with the book
and nodded
editors and readers
my gun?
        There stands the glass …
drink rings on the table
the editor, or someone
can repeat it
my raincoat collar up
she had a washed-out sex appeal
enough to stampede a funny guy
with the treasure
with the thing
that villain wants
makes it
in the boulevard
and love private dicks
that wanted to stop
and find the matter
in here
you're not much of a dead man
I liked him
his neat well-kept face
he had a cup
dead guy cigarette smoke
it's story laid in front and out
and fear finds the rim of his hands
and I found blood on the newly washed up
on the difficulties
more thickly upon the suffering
dead men snooping
holding wrapped parcels
and ice buckets
        That will hide all my tears …
or solve
she said
hungering for fun
trying to gasp
the faint sweetish smell of the rain
pounded, and waited
a guy in here
villains with false teeth
rings on
on in to kick me with his tearing around
villains get away
all these sinister events
tries to cope with all these
sinister events
and poisoned myself with a MENACE to gasp
old in both legs
I leaned against a satin cushion
she had a mystery
I had my vital organs
a guy with all his vital organs
these sinister events
I was somebody elses rain
she took a menace, a fistful of trouble
as soon as possible
I never married
I am being blackmailed again
man wasn't so brittle
hinted at a problem
not much of first
the face looked jarred
ties to the mystery son
does everything happen logically
at this point
waiting for fun
no fear
not much
of dead men snooping around hotels
not so hot
I'll only fathom
to the depths
of what is glass
        That will drown all my fears …
shovel more grief
into the copper ice bucket
cigarette smoke
on Sunset
the gun barked once
wide and he snarled
I'll only be gently misleading
it is glass
stopped in words
he trembles
roving eyes
wider, without being blackmailed again
he trembles
roving eyes
you're smart, wider
I dropped my drink
this is on me
his examination blissfully
must have my gun
to kick me
without being heroic
part logical
I'm a fight
I yawned
he conducts his number
little man
almost drooling
with my drink
characterising a story actor
consists of
the pane falls out of the bottom
of the neat careful fingers
of dead guy
with enough sex appeal
of a black cloud
you're smart
the neat well-kept face
soft on all
in the room
I'm yellow
a story actor
consists of accomplishing
one now
door eases open
five grand worth
wider, wider
I dove down
you're smart
in the sheerest silk stockings
stepped inside
hero is glass
as wasted as washed-out
wider, doc
        Brother, I'm on my way ...
plot twists
bet you a drink
in the chest
there is one
physical conflicts
the pretence
nothing but hard aching white light
almost drooling
with a peculiar punch
all right hand
showed me sore
make you certain of black coffee
carried fifteen thousand dollars
and swords
and finished my car
she had ditched it more than once
or somebody elses
the MENACE getting blacker
go ahead
nodded at me
wasted as wasted
the big razzoo
that kind of the action
no fear
like a hell you were
well-kept face
I have a  story laid out in lean dark clothes
might use it
the rain lashing
the hero finds himself in the reader
        I'm wond'ring where you are tonight
thickly upon the windows
horns grunted
the unexpected person
a big one
held out
with the raindrops tapping icily
me troubles
to dispose of
the situation
a dud, doc
Joe did it.
get the blonde
she had a flea circus
the suffering protagonist
almost drooling
get the hero
the villain
a murder method
the glass
with my gun
let's go
        I'm wond'ring if you all right
everything is lost
did God kill the reader
with a big razzoo
a dud
with that WARM FEELING?
        I wonder if you think of me
a swallow
from it
that's kind of the floor
        In my mis-e-ry
a big razzoo
the snapper
the mysteries remaining
--one big razzoo
        There stands the glass
this is a glass
thinking of a case
identical circumstances
waiting for my nickel
identical circumstances
like hell you were
greasy little man
not so brittle
thinking of his lower belly
you know darn well
so long, all right
I listened to kill him
I yawned and gave
I worked on the rim of a drink
being blackmailed again
he had undertaker white meat
dead guy
dark air
the minutes dragged
we drank
thinking of shooting
the faint sweetish smell
the room was safe now
people get too odd
detective, nix
I listened to kill him
what of it
I sat there and poisoned myself
with the rest
        Fill it up to the brim
can't drink
jangled crossly
had swell
thinking of a small hole
in the larger white light
thinking of fun
trying to
only half
lower belly
the newly washed fingers
of the victims
found blood on me
a lot
kind of shooting
he had an undertaker number
you can't pin that gasp
the pug slipped it
safe now
so long
I listened to the face
the victims found blood
on that
wanted to stampede a businessman's lunch
finish my drink
you're washed
        Till my troubles grow dim
nobody answered
        It's my first one to day

0 thoughts on “hard boiled

  1. Long disjunctive circular detective yarn wherein the narrator plays all three roles: victim, criminal, and detective, who drinks. He keeps coming back to that, but in a cycle of denial: “It’s my first one to day.” He’s a drunken Philip Marlowe without wit, perception, incentive, or daring, being knocked around by life, along with everybody else, not liking what’s happening but incapable of doing anything about it.

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