Wind Quartets - Marc Bolan and T. Rex



The wind quartet howls softly

My jeep hand strokes her necklace

Crusted, crammed with old Etruscan gold.



Her bird head torn with summer

Inspects a Spartan runner

Robbing time a chosen Prince of Speed



My goblet drenched with Autumn

Tears for my dead cat Ena

Silver Surfer sorcerer of spray.



She headed deep in chartreuse

A falcon glimpse of white teeth

Separated by lace cinnamon folds.



We hid and rid in hansom

Cab wrenched from lost Byzantium

Lordlett who once held the earth In chains



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