The players withdraw in rain,
rattling over the high road.
After a princely welcome,
all hoopla and fol-de-rol,
their shadowy spectacle proved
too much to bear. They pass
the walls without fanfare or thanks,
winding to the south, seaward,
cart wheels sunk in the mud
where Yorick keeps his tongue,
his antics latterly praised,
as grave makes way for grave.



April 2013
March 2013
Jan/Feb 2013
December 2012
November 2012
September 2012
July/Aug 2012 
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