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Biography is either masked ball or epitaph. As you find me, so we are.

Friday, 9 March 2012

Ode on a Dark Knight

(a poem for Shab-e Yalda)

He walks in beauty, like the Knight,

Refusing Sovereign; Rather shies

From usual armor, for the fight

To wrestle meaning from the lies.

The Persian poets sought Divine
Through whirling turns of godly dance,

And reveries of ruby wine;
They're drunk when given half a chance.

In Xanadu, Sam found his mate
Inspired by the addict verse,

With some exotic opiate,

Came fit of wit to do its worse

So, bit by bit, I have turned junkie

To a ghost, a phantom limb,
Of a special magic monkey.

I cannot scratch this itch for him.

I’m fair sozzled on the Word.
Hooked. Veiled, they communicate
A face unseen, a voice unheard.
This sucker's punched. It is my fate.

As Paraclaus sits at adore

A-musing on a letter;

The Raven mutters, "Nevermore" - 

Some longings hid are better.

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