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
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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