Monday, 16 March 2015

The Sorry Head by Grant Harbison

Howl, howl, oh monstrous fearsome sight

For once again I’ve revelled most of the night

Well, what did I expect?

A mirror never lies

It merely reflects

Did I envisage some kind of transcendence?

A fresh phizog with its usual semblance?

Oh dear me

What terrible sorrow

It’s days like these

One wishes it was tomorrow

Damn you cursed brew with your cunning and pretence

For leading me to believe that candles burn at both ends

Oh mercy me I’m in dire need of sleep

My eyes feel so heavy

Open I can’t keep

I need some more hours

Till one o’clock or two

Maybe after that I shall feel brand new

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