Romeo Of Lever Street

Romeo Of Lever Street

He's a trier, you must give him that,
trooping the street in his inglorious charade,
a hinterland for elegiac fails.

Here, beneath a canopy of twine and rouge red moons,
the day falls by degrees to that sultry shade
where he can intimate possibilities 
that would blush in broad daylight.

It is age that makes me a cynical observer,
— that or diminishing returns.
There is a law for it, I think, 
an equation of sorts,
that pushes me to the margins while the 
parade continues eternal,
a mathematics of growth and entropy,
peak and decline.





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