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Eight Lines, With Envoi, Played In The Minor Flats; To Amuse Taphless Gibler
No need presses that we have to explain him
to you. His acquaintance will make you disdain him.
His artistic frustrations often drain him
of any energy that might sustain him.
While he was wombing, our Lord did not brain him;
and as his words spew, nothing can restrain him.
He fears that his own lustings will profane him.
Judgement, awaiting, will ceaselessly pain him.
ENVOI:
He reminds me of Apollinax, at the Channing-Cheetahs',
laughing like an irresponsible foetus.
Parting from him is too late not too soon---
like a flyspeckled lemon slice, or a half-chewed macaroon.
Starward
