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the merry-go-round.

new six foot green
& the first proper
tremblings of love
step clumsy onto the sidewalk.
April comes & goes
& cares not for this house;
a baby, a dice, a roman fish
a love less than divine
the girl has flown,
& love’s appended for now.

you do know that
she intends to arm herself
with your children
& divest you of your pride & gold
so mark my words:
that oysters enable, it’s said,
but clams spew forth your issue
and purple robes are only robes
 - a tissue of conceit, that’s all.