How like a window into tepid souls
is my third eye upon this turgid night:
more fortune cookie than a Dead Sea Scroll;
more freezer burn than tragic artic blight.
I will not give up my apostrophes
or semi-colons. Let the pundits gripe:
they did not daunt wise Erastothenes
nor did they still the most courageous pipes
of Miss Marianne Faithfull. Let me see -
I know I can be more obscure than this -
I'd take my Cinderella Liberty
if Yoyo Ma would open up for Kiss.
On Lamastide did my Sweet Susan float
out of my reach on filthy Charon's boat.