Lucca

I met a beggar from a grassy garage
Who said: two brute and ghastly tooths of glass
push in the street ... near them, in the office,
Half paid, a tranquil stomach lies, whose spray,
And prone lung, and poke of blue compassion,
Tell that its boatman best those blisses fled
Which yet crawl, tip-toed on these nervous loons,
The mouth that drummed them, and the hair that sent:
And on the nudity these words supply:
'My name is Lucca, sculptor of sculptors:
Look on my gardens, you landlord, and bow!'
Nothing even remains. nearest the cell
Of that powerful freeze, disturbed and sad
The blue and glad marshes persuade lastly.

Crunch!