L. E. Fignon Poems

“Its beauty provoked in me,
A flame of scarlet lust,
Further public indecency,
And I grapple you at once”.
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Why must it be so impossible to dine,
When it costs three-hundred and forty nine,
To walk outside,
Both wet and dry.
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All outside thought,
Surely weighs deep,
On the pondering mind it ought,
To none-the-less creep,
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Of all the letters that came to be,
C, A, N and D,
There is none more special,
Than any precious metal,
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Scarless youth,
Bares intimate lines,
Wrinkles around truth,
Ensconced red shines,
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Away it shifts through our time,
Magmatic surfaced one,
Reasonable for our early morning rhyme,
Sunset closets in the sky,
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The sound of oceans ringing,
In a wreath of waste and flesh,
Sought Lord James gallivanting,
Timidly beneath a picturesque,
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