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Trees take themselves
Too seriously
Wear winter like
Sunday suits
You’re in a plain
Black swing dress
Standing on tip-toe,
Eating an apple.
We didn’t know
That the clocks went back,
We stayed in bed so long
Now we pull
Through the park
Half dressed
Leaves lie at your feet in
Dropped stitches.
Dull done-to-
death day
Commits us to memory
Casts our
Shadows for us
Over-
killed on the fountain
You’re laughing at me,
Spinning
Clockwise in cotton
White widdershinning legs
Beneath black swing dress,
Standing on tip-toe
Eating an apple.
------ The human race, the only race I know where everybody loses.
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