Victoria is Queen in London Town.
The Empress rules it all with velvet hands.
‘Tis eighteen eighty eight, the city’s brown
with coal and cholera that vex the land.
But down on Fleet Street starts a tale of woe.
Her Highness will learn nothing ‘til too late.
For Secretary Fitzroy’s caught a blow
delivered of a monster’s razor hate.

You left me standing there
with only hands to fill my pockets.
I was hurt and in pain
as I turned to ponder my regrets.
And if you were to say
you chose well when you didn't choose me,
I would have to agree.
I turned out just like you thought I'd be.
A little thin on top,
a little thick around the middle,
the toilet seat is up,
and I still can't play second fiddle.
But those things were minor
when you spat those nasty words at me.
I couldn't be the man

Long tassels of birch hang - golden 
their autumnal attire
like bell-pulls for the seasons opening
so fitfully they swing towards the south
saluting geese in v formation 
their gentle beat of winged migration

september tints the trees 
makes misty mornings rise through rotting woods
carries the perfumes of the valleys
dreams of summer sun into the haven of the heavens 
where clouds make grey backcloths 
for the coloured scene 

my court officer test is scheduled for december 13th at 2pm.
my grandpa says he is tickled pink that things are going so well,
and that that is a very good omen
because december 13th, 1959
is when he took his police officer test. he said he never forgot that.
i've actually seen his test. i saw his handwriting, and his answers.
i saw that he did very well.
i see that things come full circle.
i see that some things happen again, but fifty five years later.
he told me this is just the beginning but