2068: A Run

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My work was a performance
& justified my existence to a

vacated theatre [I know now
no one watched me] – None

cared for my one man show –
Tickets were not attractively

priced [so I was told] – Never
sold one – producers spat – in

return I refused another run –
One more season will kill me

[I said] – as if Prometheus & I
were equal [so enough of her

endless pecking at my parts]
& flyers faded as auld paste –

knackered horse – let loose –
[I’ll retire to a coastal home]

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