I'm In Joyce's Portal

It was a bit of genius right there,

To some, might be your angel name,

But to Wordsworth you were always Luke;

A bit of shit, from the same dog, on that very same tyre,

And it isn't fluke, you threw me the ball,

You saved me

Shaving away at this square peg;

She would never have helped, held up,

Even a tent of a home.

Take it back, to where you lost it all,

I know why,

But no-one else can see, the selfish,

And their world of the over-exposed;

Take it back,

It doesn't matter, whose glove is she:

One size fits all,

I may be capricious,

It fitted well with her crotchety;

Whomsoever be the revolutionary,

Tomorrow, we will wait and see:

Manana, I can see; but what was it

Santayana said about history.