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May 02, 2005
fine dining
the shadow of the poet
is always at leisure
organizing strikes
against the count
the turnstiles of the fan
weave blurred images
with the taunting assistance
of the desert wind
sweat pours from the brow
that keeps me from dominating
the field of ponies
roaming the acres by silent decree
back here in the flesh
the potatoes are boiling
the chicken stands
its call to execution
the only thing that excites
the filet ala carte
is the chef
who, having consumed
three quarters of his life
is now making an attempt
to gourmet his way
to the candlelit affair
she has proposed
the wine is plundered
along the way
the manner of speech
is stifled
with the passing of the torch
as long as the damsels
provide the plea
I will always
be the cause
Posted by Drexler at May 2, 2005 05:17 PM