Komrade Kris, fer fawkessake -
for sure, write me to the vaults -
and bolt me to the rites -
and rhyme me with the plots -
and plant me with the thymes -
and murdoch me with news -
and maunder me with hughes (howard? I gasped*) -
and martyr me with foxes -
and pilgrim me with greases -
and prescott me with roses -
and clean my speech with cheeses -
and tuck me up with sentences -
and turn me off with e-motion (not a-**, that's a dead cert) -
and plath me all over with those royal blues -
but don't you - step on my -
yours from the chile north
rc
*see Dawn's gunn-slinger
**see Coleridge's rhyme of the ancient grand marnier: "backwards and
forwards, to and fro, with a short, uneasy motion"
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