SUCH GODS OF TIN
The elocution of the mind
in parody of Heaven's star
is like a bat come from behind,
or like a soldier at a bar,
and either way, as smart as sin
and lucid as the lime and gin
whose love is for some whore's perfume.
These are the men who fuck and fight
and write poems at their sad cafe
...their wives may do all three the same,
though, rarely, with the likes of them.
Ah! Radiant youth! in Winter's gloom,
full of the shit they never ate
...it comes out of the mouth...not in!
For the love of God, the hour grows late
for heroes in their brassy ways
come to crucify such gods...of tin!
Copyright © Sam Silva 2000