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Sunday 24 April 2016

Day Twenty Four

Day Twenty Four

She’s kickin’ mad for it like Baudelaire
Done time in prison and she doesn’t care
The painted canvas of her portrait cries
Up in the gallery despite her lies
If I don’t tell her she won’t know the truth
She set herself apart she’s so aloof
As fleeting as modernity methinks
Art Nouveau rings another round of drinks
A gin and tonic and she waves goodbye
As plastic dingle dangles from her eye
The evil flowers that destroyed her soul
Cemeteries that couldn’t make her whole
Roadside crosses planted with red roses
She paints her toes doing Manet poses

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