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Funeral SuitHe came by in his funeral suitIn an open hearted shade of blue Asked me what I like to do On a July evening To bermondsey or to shoreditch I said I don't know which is which The night a thread for him to stitch For me, the unbelieving In the end we just stay in And gesture with our mugs of gin Dance around this borrowed kitchen A stop and start dumb show I am a cloud filament We advance in tender increments Between the past and future tense Test the weight of both |