"This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air. - W. B. Yeats

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Dublin II

Here's to feeling unattractive
in a beautiful city

belly full of boiled egg

weary and tousle-haired
and better on the move

through uneven streets
and aging townhouses

down the coast to seaside
tinglemouthed and toeworn

pock-faces and worn out
and sleeping nights in a bare room

as the young and hopeless
wage their wars
on the streets.

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