Alarming poems,
thirsty for gossip,
slink from Dante's
storm drains
Creep through
streets, dark
with secrets,
to where poets
famous, and not,
gather in salons.
They meet
to speak,
their tongues
bathed in bronze
cognac, keen
as razors.
Pretend to think
loftily, mouth
ideas of import.
Love the imagery in that second stanza and this part, in particular, just oozes with pretentiousness that is written in so fluidly:
ReplyDelete"Pretend to think
loftily, mouth
ideas of import."