(on "The Lady")
This poem is wearing white pancake face-makeup and indigo eyeliner.
It is aware of itself as it moves in several directions at once.
No one speaks as it lifts its skirts and crackles with static.
Some say "Gothic" and "Fear" when it has gone.
Its images demand attention, though they don't fly red banners.
It has taken many risks and most have made it through.
"The meteor of her exhaustion" dies before the sum of the parts of its
arc.
I'd like to meet this poem for an unfiltered talk about Tennyson & death.
This poem lights a blue fuse in my spine.
I want to have sex with this poem.
Anthony
......................................................
Anthony Lawrence
PO Box 75
Sandy Bay
Tasmania 7006
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