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

Tuesday, 9 October 2012

My lover, October

It’s been a roundabout romance.
Here she turns, all misty-eyed, meets
Burning with fiery circumstance.
Starlings stutter stanzas; “Kerweet-ter-keats” -
Even the birds recall the rascal’s name.
Her Other Man. Close bosom-friend!
I too can play, I know his game.
Sweet-talk granary-floor-pretend.

Then that Ulyanov Affair.
Licked her loose lips cochineal raw,
Painted the town red.  Bolshie, yeah.
Did Julian old-style before
Taking Gregory’s papal bull.
Body’s not what it used to be,
Showing her history.  Hair full
Of pink ribbons these days.  She
Says they’re for her girlfriends. 

October, you’re not getting younger. 
Could this be our last year together?

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