Poem — Tim Upperton

That way only

That right. That OK? That’ll do.
That’s that then. I’ll leave that to you.
That’s not what I said. That’s enough.
No, not that. That’s the stuff.
That your suitcase, sir? That what you think?
Fancy that. Call that a drink?
That sour look. That remembered stain.
That sad song we play again.
I do this, I do that. That’s Frank O’Hara.
That way only pity and terror.
That’s a fact. That’s one for the jury.
Amen to that. That old story.

Tim Upperton

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Posted in Poem
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