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

Friday, 12 October 2012


How to address a wizard mind?  A one
Which by its thinking thinks a thing was done
That otherwise may never have occurred;
The sad spilt milk, thirteen, a single bird.
A ladder thought, that walking under it
Life’s bucket spewed its luck, or maybe hit
Unhappy circumstance.  An evil eye
Whose glance, Medussa-style, alone might fry
All fortune’s favours.  Or take shattered glass.
A superstitious soul will soon surpass
The fear of shards – those here and now mishaps –
With years.  Seven like sisters.  Or perhaps
Write volumes on ways to avoid the jinx,
Yet somehow fail to justify the links
Claimed between salt and shoulders.  Left or right?
Or why leaf tea might pause to give insight
On Nana’s health, or Emma’s bad romance.
Why Dereck got knocked down in lucky pants.
Tassologists, I’d curse you if I could
But I’m more rational than that.  Touch wood.

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