Idolotry
¶ 1
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Nostalgia always betrays reality.
At school I hated the rucked mud of the
football pitch, the native rain,
the pain of miscontrol and miss again.
¶ 2
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But Henri, Zola, Pires,
these are gods from other planets
brighter than the stars:
no mud sticks to their slick silk shadows:
there is no pain in the theatre of dreams.
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