Perhaps I'll shave my beard
And we'll sit in small cafes
And talk till the night
Dwindles like our breath,
Sapphire words exchanged
Bright, unlocked emotions
Avant-garde notions.

Then again,
I could keep to myself
In the tower of inverted letters.
Looking up to my betters
All dead
And sealed
In perfect paper tombs.

Anyway, it's a swamp
Of false urban lights
And over-crowded sights
Shooting from the rubble
Of American Romance.