so I strolled out into
the nippy air
looking for a

so-
called mystical moment
(Moon looking like
it might just
oblige

put the week’s Sylvia gas-oven
flavour way
out of mind)

O how sad a thing it is
a woman broken
my love
a man
who not seeing the
fault lines
wonders how it all
fell to ruin,
crumbled in his hands

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