the cad

it must be sad to be a cad and have women every hour fall like flowers into your lap when you're trying to take a nap or want some solitude to sit in a somber mood and create unflinching perfect art but how can you start when these myriad creatures with their softly shifting features will not go away but multiply every day lining up for miles in kaleidoscopic styles and wind through city blocks stopping the tower clocks of the haughty bourgeoisie who hate art and poetry o apollo shed a tear! but poet, try to persevere though the world be misbegotten you will never be forgotten your words will be on lips when thinking machines and rocket ships are wiped from time's black shining slate immortality shall be your fate