It’s 1967; the master of scenes is
found
lying on a park bench in a city of words,
reciting poetry in his sleep, the sound
of a place, a time that won’t come again.
But vanishing tricks are two for a pound
round here, and all that’s left now is rain.
lying on a park bench in a city of words,
reciting poetry in his sleep, the sound
of a place, a time that won’t come again.
But vanishing tricks are two for a pound
round here, and all that’s left now is rain.

No comments:
Post a Comment