Thursday, October 18, 2018

In My Fashion

It makes as much sense as a dead clock's tick
To follow me. No, I'm not lost. I'm seized
By wild delight, inordinately pleased
To hear the show beginning, at a click
Too loud to be ignored, the runway slick
With hair oil. Now I hear somebody sneezed
While this was going on, her bright hair teased
As high as Everest, a clever trick.

A genius made these costumes, never fear:
The wings of angels, the deep reds of dawn,
The swirl of feathers, silken feel of lawn,
The sound of solemn praise still in my ear.
It hasn't been as passionate a year
As I had hoped. My sense of humour's gone.

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