Ibrox
¶ 1
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Breathing survival on my lucky head,
sodium lights glowed unearned haloes
on early-leaving, muffled companions;
they shuffled quietly and unknowingly
along fissured, meditating pavements.
¶ 2
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I, too, was favoured; in my mind’s fancy
a hearth enticingly flushed consolation
of a gladdening Scotch whisky haze.
Innocent imagery preceding
tears for the dead.
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