Parkdale, then Princess Street
Make them say yes before you even ask,
L’essence de charme, c’est ça. The mind’s a damsel
Locked in a tower with her fathom of hair.
Coax the braid and it’ll all be over.
The rooms are plain where I am interviewed,
Abstract and clinical, and so I glory
Like a corpse plant, perfume the marble-faced
With the reek and prodigy of my tomorrows.
Dying is so boring as the soul
Rummages the liquidation sale
For a final bargain —
But time outbids all comers, and we die
Expensively in Princess Margaret
Who was herself once so beautiful.