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FOR STEVE

You’re here, you’re there
quicksilver all wired up
burned absinthe bohemian
philistine contrarian
With your goddam philosophising
And your hats that fool no-one.

Tell me what you find.
Cos you always find something:
Return of the Dero!
The grand zippies picnic!
The watchers who fell
via Walthamstow UFOs!

Meanwhile at the Phoenix
the room’s full of luvvies.
The hippodrome’s flaming
and so’s the Glaswegian
patient, a star cat purrs on his cushion:
quicksilver’s out; the man’s coming home.

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