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The Sundays Of Satin-Legs Smith

Rating: 4.5
Inamoratas, with an approbation,
Bestowed his title. Blessed his inclination.

He wakes, unwinds, elaborately: a cat
Tawny, reluctant, royal. He is fat
And fine this morning. Definite. Reimbursed.

He waits a moment, he designs his reign,
That no performance may be plain or vain.
Then rises in a clear delirium.
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COMMENTS
Brian Purdy 06 July 2017
A truly extraordinary poem. Nothing else like it that I know of. The male and female specimens examined by Ms. Brooks come fully to life in her words, images and rhythms.
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