Friday, August 14, 2009

A Bohemian Author Contemplates His Fame and Fan-Base, Decides to Confess Poverty and a New Haste


Indeterminate was it for ten long years,
Severance pay to my famous ears, but

Did France turn Bastille into a cenacle?
Did fruit the tree of the cynical? Did?

Who among you cannot disperse must
Interrogate yourselves on promiscuity:

This is not to insinuate some blasé ennui,
Just your fecund caresses for women in

A city. Did you tell them already? Ready?
Let’s go! The boats are sunk, all reddish,

Oh out with the porridge, am famished!
After this I’m writing again. Yes, again!

--2009

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