the twilight of twilight
in a long forgotten age
poets maudits were all the rage
drunk, unshaven, and ill dressed
the bourgeoisie they quite impressed
with words grandiloquent and sage
every mountebank and magus
made a claim yet more outrageous
in their desperate ascension
to the summits of pretension
with every street corner their stages
they measured out their days
in bistros and cafes
watching honest citizens pass
they trembling raised a glass
as they composed their unmemorable lays
one no longer hears or sees
much about poets maudits
their absinthe-stained cravats
and battered wide-brimmed hats
have vanished in a green reverie
bohemian nights
a slubberdegullion named suzy
drifted through the days blue and boozy
she followed the pattern
of an unregenerate slattern
and could not often choose to be choosy
she had no reserves of gold bullion
when she dined it was often on slumgullion
when her partners in crime
threw her a lousy dime
she said, hey pal, thanks a mullion
no one was up to the task
of ever caring to ask
if suzy had any dreams
or just floated down life’s stream
holding tight to an empty flask
one night she was just gone
but no one commented on
that most unremarkable fact
whether from indifference or tact
and they kept on drinking until dawn
ezra
ezra wrote some poems
they didn’t take up much space
he had a twinkle in his eye
and a smile upon his face
ezra wrote some poems
they didn’t take up much space
he had made his contribution
to the culture of the human race
the years stretched out before him
repetitious, bleak, and long
he had some thoughts on the history of civilization
that his fellow humans found quite wrong
ezra wrote some poems
they didn’t take up much space
they will be preserved forever
in a silent purple place
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