Chapter 1: Sorry He’s Out
Flaps of neck
armed in retrograde
no sign of up or down
spa-less for months, years
piled into the sitting room of a fogged-up Baker Street, demanding an audience with the great funeral-eyed detective Sherlock Holmes.
‘Sorry, he’s out.’
Chapter 2: A Catalogue Of Doubts
Five historians, four anarchists, twelve fascists and seven randos on the brink of Sorel sat on the stained pine floor, dodging pot-shots, stroking Watson, trying with alacrity to present to Sherlock Holmes their litany of evidence.
Banned other parties
stopped visiting factories
shat on Red Star
refused to eat out Fanny Caplan [before and after]
obsessed with tomorrows
speaks to wife
sent Stalin to Perm
but the most cunning part, Mr. Holmes
if you’re listening
is the ratio
four days authoritarian, three days hippie
four being more than three and therefore cementing things.
[SHOTS HEARD OUTSIDE, ORPHAN TROUBLE]
‘What say you, Sir, can you assist?’
Holmes scratched at his violin
‘Put a bullet in his brain,’ said the fascists.
pulled out the syringe and cocaine
‘Expose his two-facedness,’ said the anarchists.
‘For the future of us all.’
and void.Continue reading