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the leisure of aspiration
ekphrastic for George Lambert’s ‘Holiday in
Essex’
smug
forever at
their moment
carefully
barefoot
game in hand
the feather
in cap
all defiance
not a chance
they’ll sit
the pony
gives a little cough
all about to
move off
in a half
dusk cloven
children of
Narnia not-quite-yet
on their way
to conquer more
the clouds
behind were once possessed
now they
cast them off
it’s as with
any empire
they’re
leaving
a landscape
of ruins behind
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