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Click hereReading in French
Mispronouncing the words.
Never write a poem that rhymes
Eliot, in bed?
Eliot, not quite homosexual poet,
Loves the fair, carnies and circus folk.
Never stay in the room alone with him:
Allen Ginsberg
The snide remarks and half chuckles
About the pope’s penis.
Eliot, in bed…
Hair, half messed
Bald spot growing ravenously,
Loudly pink shirt with
Work boots.
Masculine counteracted.
Rebalanced with the stubble
Of a chin.
His notebook of images
Lain bedside astray.
A record of the way I felt
When he caught my eye,
And looked away.