Tuesday, 1 November 2011

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.

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