The ponderous chubbiness br of my poem's body expects what? br swollen adjectives, epithets, br attractive oggles of phrases, br bending of glossy necks of rhetorics- br mind it- so many wild words swirl br like the swing of her skirt, br when in exciting motion, br she moves on dancing in wined music- br br This is an academic inn of temptation: br my writings must go on br moving round this hazy crowds br and pour elixir on the cups- br their white cups- and those must be filled- br smoke filled magic of the room, br coloured bulbs of glory, br puffs of pride- gestures of desires- br and their cliche cigars, shadowy pipes, br glorious handcarchiefs and br glass like brittle moods in colour- br br I must make my way through br and sit deep within their hours' grip br and let them sip brimful sensuality, br let them breathe my deep instant; br the artful precious peeps out br from canyon of breasts br of my motioned verse, br let it whisper immortality- br br Generations of mine, br starved of rhyme, br chewed nothings of life- br every tremor of lips for long years- br every speakable loses in vacant fears br and dies alone by unfortunate strife; br my poem must make heads br out of this silenced doom, br and surely with plumpness of art br it thinks making room br and wins the last gilded heart- br br In the serpentine lanes of honour br we may not hold ever the flower- br but we may dance our words now, br while our hands flow, we vow br to speak the mad of us br to let loose the unspeakable rush br out in the testing mood of time- br my words so bold in round may chime br good new bends of life, br so that something of me looks really ripe...