... reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience.
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I am thirty-three and working in an expensive clothier, selling suits to men I call "Sir." These men are muscled, groomed and cropped-- with wives and families that grow exponentially. Mostly I talk of rep ties and bow ties, of full-Windsor knots and half-Windsor knots, of tattersall, French cuff, and English
On the Forty-Ninth Birthday of "The Day Lady Died"
It is 3:00 in the torpid New South, three days past Bastille Day & yes this is the form you fashioned, isn't it? Exact & fast & haunted as the opening chords of "Sweet Jane" (Mott the Hoople version),