Horace Flemming

 

A single sentence composed on a cold clear morning
in the Winter of 1999.
     In the still dawn     as the old     are driven from their beds     by swollen bladders     and aching heads,
     and some sleep on     never again to see      or feel the sun,
     at groaning banquet tables     in magnificent indifference     the gods sigh -      and yawn.
 


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