Blofeld and Largo



Here, a fine dining cloth of chequered weave.
With the flourish of a magician’s sleeve,
The glasses remain but the cloth recedes.
And to keep white men choking on smokescreens:
Blackmail, with their own spectres, ghosts, and fiends.
A fluid gambit by the modern thief –
The silk laid out with no stitches or seams.


But schemes snag hitches, fabrics fail to bond,
One moment success, the next it is gone.
Alas, if my world was less black and white,
My flying wheel would not be pierced in flight:
Pleasure, not pain, if plans fell into place!
I stagger round to see my killer’s face,
Bold Domino stands over my disgrace.

All these my head! I need to get them out!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s