1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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