1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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