A Smith for a Spleen by Ben Nardolilli

Lose your poems, instead
Read the hours entwined
With dizzy laughs and care.
Go to a cemetery for lovers
Looking ripped with smiles
Where miserable minutes meet
Shoving kicks around at children
While your dreaded whores
Write wanted sunny prose
Salutations to Keats, Yates,
And Caligula

But find them once more
As voluptuous vampires
Your skin whimpers to embrace,
Find the alchemy of souls
In order to escape
The false grandeur of cadavers
Finding the damned flowers
With delight,
Glittering clarity
From suckling bones

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