F{ear} [no more] (thx to Claire, I sense)

Fear is an ear that listens all too well

to the swell and the roll and the holding off and the tying down and the rounding up, like agreements financial

of ancient c{o}urts, and of torts, and of hurts.

But get this folks!  You may think,

as you drink in the landscape that scopes your

night-times and your

day-dreams and your

mid-seems and your

bloodied teams,

that creation requires the drivers

you just ain’t, at the

wheels of terrible loss: but whilst the cost

of imagination does exist, in my case it’s no longer

the persist of

resistible miseries.

For at your curiously strange hands I have uncovered the real truth: that to be happy and mad is both possible and good.

And if one day you decided

to lend me just one word again, and things as I bewildered them could

return to the same and the main and the plain, and the waning and waxing – and even the goddamn sunshine in rain! – of splendid re-encounter, and beautiful repossession, and the passion of fine obsession …

… I would be ever so very happy to

make you happy forever:

forever and

ever and

ever:

so happy for always and ever!

 

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