December ‘20

An amiable and small and dull-minded

Moonish little deals-maker

Warbles up the darkened block

Dead of night — claims he never wanted it any other way


Enphantomed in my glimmer tomb

Rightish little contributor

I shuffle up the soundless stairs

Cornering — every single frame can still fool me


I’m the audience you dreamed of

One December, years and years back;

I believe all things, because I was once told that

Tastes are sweet and sure enough it was true

But also, though they didn’t say, enoughnesses are rare

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