1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum