1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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