She, who thought herself detested,
Dug into her memory box of blunders at every idle moment,
hunting for recollections of stumbled paths, and mad faced apologies.
Paying no heed to the singing ammunition overhead;
No remembrance of the untied laces dancing across paving stone promenades
to the shimmering city that made the neighbouring waterway seem festive with epileptic fits;
All the time crying a laughter so odd, so devoid of practice or perfection that even the critics in high places lay down their pens in fatigue and protest at the deviancy of it all.
Shards of mirror;
mockery of might, and a homage to misery.
Day is done
Let it be said without shame,
“I want you. I want you. I want you.”