The Book of Gwenivere
Spicer on Gwenivere
Lance, lets figure out where we stand
On the beach of some inland sea which cannot be
called an ocean
The river in back of us is green.
The river is wet. Down it floats what is not the grail-mistress,
several magicians and dead seagulls. Harp
On the same theme. Play the wild chorus over and over
again - the music magic
Lady of the Lake I hate you; cannot stand your casual
Way the wind blows. Listen
I am Gwenivere.
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