![\"clive-james.jpg\"](\"http:\/\/beatrice.com\/wordpress\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/06\/clive-james.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
\nWindows is shutting down, and grammar are
\nOn their last leg. So what am we to do?
\nA letter of complaint go just so far,
\nProving the only one in step are you.<\/p>\nBetter, perhaps, to simply let it goes,
\nA sentence have to be screwed pretty bad
\nBefore they gets to where you doesnt knows
\nThe meaning what it must of meant to had.<\/p>\nThe meteor have hit. Extinction spread,
\nBut evolution do not stop for that.
\nA mutant languages rise from the dead
\nAnd all them rules is suddenly old hat.<\/p>\nToo bad for we, us what has had so long
\nThe best seat from the only game in town.
\nBut there it am, and whom can say its wrong?
\nThose are the break. Windows is shutting down.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\nOpal Sunsest: Selected Poems<\/i><\/a>, recently released in paperback, cherrypicks from Clive James<\/a>‘ two previous collections, The Book of My Enemy<\/i> and Angels Over Elsinore<\/i>, and it includes “The Book of My Enemy Has Been Remaindered<\/a>” and many, many others poems<\/a>. But here’s one that isn’t in Opal Sunset<\/i>, oddly enough: “Opal Room, Wallace Collection,” read by a man who goes by Tom O’Bedlam<\/a>:<\/p>\n