Poets

Vanished day, to strive for fame, to glitter in a marble pool but lose the task You sit among the virtuous weeding out life Personalities sulk

Spongey beer shells the brain's late noon Close the window on the tortured cats' feudal sex The cash register below rings like a phone The weather inside's cold though outside's blue

I throw in my lot with them showing me the crashed lights they drove into cold isolate Bohemians My mind is filled with condiments