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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