Cancer

there's the gun and the temple
the temple and the prayer
the desperate man whose life is
hanging on the words of a hearsayer

there's the noose and the neck
the neckline and the black hair
the desperate man whose life is
hanging on the words of a soothsayer

there's the blade and the skin
the skintight dress on the back of the chair
the desperate man whose life is
hanging on the words of an untruth sayer

there's the fist and the mirror
the mirror image of something so rare
the desperate man whose life is
hanging by the breadth of a fear's hair

hanging by a fear's hair's breadth
so until sweet, sweet black death
do us part, in the dark, oh my darling

you're my cancer, my sweet, sweet cancer
killing me with the poetry of a ballet dancer
and the unwitting precision of a coincidence
oh my cancer, of my causer of incidents.