Hermione
I saw some Soul Mates side by side
Who said their cute young Souls were pink;
I saw a Genius on the Brink
(Or so he said) of suicide.
I saw a Playwright who had tried
But couldn’t make the Public think;
I saw a Novelist who cried,
Reading his own Stuff, in his drink;
I met a vapid egg-eyed Gink
Who said eight times: "Art is my Bride!"
A Queen in sandals slammed the Pans
And screamed a Chinese chant at us,
The while a Hippopotamus
Shook tables, book-shelves and divans
With vast Terpsichorean fuss…
Some Oriental kind of muss….
A rat-faced Idiot Boy who slimes
White paper o’er with metric crimes—
He is a kind of Burbling Blear
Who warbles Sex Slush sad to hear
And mocks God in his stolen rhymes
And wears a ruby in one ear—
Murmured to me: "My Golden Soul
Drinks Song from out a Crystal Bowl….
Drinks Love and Song … my Golden Soul!"
I let him live. There were no bricks,
[2]
