alfie lee writing


A boy laments the loss of his girl...

She moves like fish
With the dexterity of the white gloved
You think you hear

The rustling of the feathers
When the white dove appears
Before you.
Or the quick back jab

Of the muted rabbit,
Ears first out
of the Red-lined top hat.
Then it was no trick.

Now it achieves its true
Proportions. She's OK. Doing well.
Fine. It's really me. Mouth
Agape. Broken back. Slap.
Moving like fish.


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