Wednesday, October 12, 2011

3286. MY AMNESTY

MY AMNESTY
To let you go? To fire up that silly
stove again? To singe the butter
on the rafters, make the rye bread
squirm? Whatever are you talking of?
I hadn't heard the headmaster before,
merging manners with the queen of
something else, the measure of the
mattered hand, the Matterhorn of
Marmaduke. It's all like unreality,
now itself so real. Make that twice
over, and once again. I drink to that.
-
The page-boy look, once wasted on the
young, has climbed its ladders to the distant
stars. Babel to Baba-Lou. Gravestone
side-steppers to the gabled mansions of
Erewhon and Potupoi - I have them
all, and they've stopped my minding.
-
Now, it's only you.

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