Xanthe

When I say blow you', makes my troubles light, so much more to do, all poets die intestate, however much they lie, spitg venom at the page, chefs scream at menus, face down terrible night, frighten kitchen crews, clerks destroy the place, tell them how to cry, anchors bind their fate, someone has the truth, doubts roll from my eyes, no longer am I duped, isn't it just great, to feel a love inside, banish all this rage, a house by the dunes, lying near the tide, not some bitter fruit, hanging out to dry.