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