FOR MARTEN CLIBBONS

You did not know me at first
time had dissolved both of our faces
I have known you since
the London Times arrounced you
as the best young socialist
to emerge in two thousand years

We only had five minutes
between trains
I touched you on the shoulder
of your faded black leather jacket
We were both off to work
We were both fed up
with everything
We were both destroyed
by everything
In your own words, the brutal refute
had brutalized us both

It was the day Davy Jones had died
It was the day The Monkees had died
For the purposes of this poem
it should have been Johnny Rotten
and the Sex Pistols
who had died
That would have been
far more than appropriate


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