Is it my fault that you are beautiful
still, it is not my place to fall in love
if you were ugly or maybe a dog
terrible as that sounds if you could pull
me into your orbit into your sphere
yet though I circle as if from above
friendship with a hawk leaves me in a bog
as if waiting for Seamus to come dig
until his pen runs out of ink unclear
luminosity within gravity
tumble into your influence and fall
tragically without a shred of pity
humbled by your impudence and your gall
as if I could elect another Whig
trouble is that I vote anarchist, right
yes, I am grotesque, don't look at me, please
only the hideous Clooney and Pitt
undertake to make me handsome despite
age, grey hair, wrinkles and weight to transform
rubies into diamonds but if I sneeze
everything goes to waste just so much shit
beggars belief, forgive me, please, your grace
exacts tribute as the ladybugs swarm
around my arrhythmia, cold, black stone
undertakers of love bury nonsense
titanic interruption on the phone
information angelic in defense
for or against the hoi polloi, the case
under review for lack of evidence
lack of common sense, lack of pounds and pence
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