Friday, January 15, 2016


Take it that this world is prentice work
Colonised by copies and drafts
And shadows on the run from deceived heiresses.
Gods of such a world might run by clockwork
So that keys from the back of desk drawers
Or rattling in dusty cigar boxes would suffice,
In the proper keyholes, to bring Lord Ba'al or Artemis
Or even the dread Zimbustavo roaring back to life.

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