1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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