1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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