SPOTLIGHT: The Fortune Teller’s Yarn (Destiny Fucks With Milo) by Darren J Beaney

Exploring a common folly

Milo puckers up. Sucks a Valium,
grinds his teeth on the mass of a nation.
Destiny tips in on silk pigeon toes.

Milo hunts for love. On a quest
for a soul, to mate.
Sweet talks his way
into a deep ramble.

Falling for destiny.
No holds barred,
kit off.

Milo takes on the world.
Obumbrates matryoshka,
together numerous they top and tail.
Conceive an immaculate fit. Destiny
feels numinous, out of reach. Love
bares all.

Milo falls, out of it. His solipsism
for thrift and tiny dolls
bothersome. Destiny erumpent,
projectile flagitious.
Love bites

Milo smokes. Wipes bunkum
from his groin. Winks at destiny,
puckers up again
and spits it out. Love
pouts, second-hand sex sulks.

Milo takes it on the chin,
like an open wound.

Recited and final

Milo drifts pandemonium. Loafing
on typhoon clouds. Lost notes of the last laugh
of destiny decant his expression,
peppering ash on his candour. He appreciates
the lamp light and clambers
down from his hallucinations.

Milo wobbles with astonishment. Manicures the mane
of his merry-go-round high horse.
Destiny stifles a visceral yawn, before jumping
into a reimbursement gone south. Anarchy
and mayhem guard the pearly gates
to the next dimension, see pretty illuminations
and ask
“what’s in a name?”

Milo declines the summons.
Goes down. Mangled.
Angels jack up,
destiny jacks off.

Milo watches everything
eventually emanate.

Destiny bluffs…

Que será, será

Milo wears blim-burn fashion, no longer
sports the garments of a conquistador.
He failed to bottle his qualities,
and now timidly consumes his faults.
He lounges on the shore of tomorrow
expecting to launder pegs and pay the price.

It’s all been a bit of a wind-up

Milo reminisces. Enthralled
in a life fliting before his observation.
Captures tadpole days, dams
and knee scrapes. Destiny merely
a twinkle in blue boyhood eyes.

Milo transports self-reproach tither.
Sees himself Lilliputian and reeking.
Recites requiescat for second chance childhood.

Milo acknowledges blunders
with aplomb. Comprehends the mechanism.
Appreciates it was all in the turn
of the highway, naïve, too trusting
in tarmacadam. He pitches
one last look. Rephrases a lullaby.

Milo ultimately admits
it was destiny.

Milo twigs

he is falling
at the speed of millennia
reaches out
in the blink
of a snake’s eye
and catches starlight
wishes exhausted
like his locked down heart
low level life

His mind
a gadget
for nonsense
his soul a gewgaw
a blemished bauble
his departure degenerates
bang on



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