gild its wings with charm,
burnish its quintessence
till it glitters in the eye,
turn choruses to poems
of the playground, of the
cradle, of the screen?
All the people celebrated in these Otwituaries have, in some way or other, had an effect on me, positive or otherwise...
Long live the breathless;
those on bloody streets
or between bedsheets,
their smiles saying no,
nothing matters,
yet acting like every last
little thing matters.