1662
5.201
20.vii.24
running repairs
the parts of me falling apart
a metaphor for all around
I have forgotten the names
the animals and our prison too
because we are as well
all this sardonic juggle
the way not the way
and it never was
trick of the grin borne
get on with
a barnacle scrape
finest quip
nor adequate
throw the old colours together
see what comes
the underparts
the overheads
the world we are wishing away
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