Friday, 21 December 2012



One’s got to be a tiger
to outlive this conflagration.
I should like to make a wager:
man’s changed to spots from celebration and oration.

In the fire I drew my love
she could only make an apparition.
She was pretty white in the flesh
though she was in bad condition.

In the gold and fire up above
two things happened to transpire:
I gave up my wool blazer for tiger teeth
and turned in my love for underneath.

St-Lambert, circa 1984.

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