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Kick Me Kate | October 8, 2016

(or Tempest Fugit)

Bloody hell, the cheers and adulation meted out
Illuminations stimulate and bongos shout
Their repetition beat their repetition beat
Bold lips mark out the route of every street
From every morning sheet to every night-time turn
And close projectile words and phrases crackle, burn
In incandescent fury like some firework that speaks
That tumbles energy in all directions in bright streaks
A thousand words that fizz and pop and scream and fall
And temporarily they fill the stage, the screen, the hall
Until it ends. and every word and every shining phrase
That spent itself so brightly in the sparks that did amaze
Now, in the haze of smoke that smells rich in the dark
This audience lies bleeding, blind, beleaguered, stark.
But where the words that linger madly after day is done?
Where are the magic phrases clinging to a fading sun?

 

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