The girls, brighter than wine, are clothed and naked.They pose in abandon by the pools of their laughter.One man is with them, but all, all are invitedTo the short-term ceremony--and something after.
Certainly it is bogus, it is tawdry, and beautyIs bottled and sold for profit, yet cannot be hidden.Even the clap-trap adolesccent vulgarityReminds us of banquets to which we long to be bidden.
It is a hard game, living on third-rate levels,Getting our love through the eyes, our power through drink,While inside we nurse the fading image of somethingOf which the mind too soon even ceases to think.
