Kennedy’s dead, Warne said.
Cole couldn’t comprehend.
The President? Jack you mean?

Things seemed simple then.
Now he knew the dark truth
Of how things fell into place.

Warne had lied about the facts,
Distorted matters; brought in
The Oswald myth and kept it

Going. Cole sips his *****
Looks across the city, wonders
How it will all pan out in the

End, whether truth will out.
The girl enters the room and
Sits beside him; half dressed

In simple reds, some foreign
Chick he'd picked up some weeks
Back, feeling lonely. She kisses

His cheek; simple thing kissing.
Something not there though;
Something missing. Kennedy’s

Dead, Warne had said. Cole
Remembers seeing that other
Photograph of Jack’s head part

Blown away. He sips his drink,
Feels the girl’s lips, wet and
Warm, remembers, forgets,

The Oswald myth, the lone
Shooter, blood on Jackie’s
Coat. The girl licks his ear,

Snakelike, worming the wet
Pointed end, another orifice
To explore. Jack’s gone; head

Blown apart; Warne passed
Away some years back, ******
Up heart. Cole sighs, the girl

Moves away, the ear wet with
Spittle; nothing matters now,
He muses darkly, or very little.