Well that cannot be said of me

As I make my words shout and scream

I am not a calm poet let it be said

But I like women shy with retroussé noses

And Oxford in their vowels

Summer dresses

Sarsaparilla’s on pastel tables

I like vintage photographs

When all is full light white bright

I should have been a war poet

But we have run out of important wars

So I create my own battles

Using my sword as my pen