It’s because they had turned to speak in a speaking –
in a manner, that is, we’d not yet heard –
or because the shadows had taken to peaking
and to turning out the scruffs that lurked in each word.
It wasn’t so much a scripted passion
as a gathering in and an emptying out.
Howsoever it was to happen, it happened.
Imagine how we felt on their account!
Dear Diary, it’s something that had to be done.
I suppose it was all their provisos and spats,
their glib effects that had made them such fun.
But we felt it wasn’t for us to find their hats
or do ought but show them the door and wish them luck.
Later we found ourselves in murky flats.
You might have said it was a nice place to get stuck.
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