a blonde runs up the hill,
handkerchief hem of fairie skirt
pure as a carnival lure.
a full-lipped widow
younger than yesterday's news
walks the gangplank of tears.
a bandit traveller
collects them all
in her quixotic chariot.
Joyce stammers:
what do we do now? I am afraid,
her falling- off- the- edge- of- the- world mantra
timidly stalled.
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