كلمات Inflammatory Writ

Oh, where is your inflammatory writ? Your text that would incite a light; 'be lit' Our music deserving Devotion unswerving Cried; 'do i deserve her?' With unflagging fervor Well, no we do not, if we cannot get over it But what's it mean when suddenly we're spent? - tell me true Ambition came and reared its head and went - far from you Even mollusks have weddings Though solemn and leaden But you dirge for the dead And take no jam on your bread Just a supper of salt and a waltz through your empty bed And all at once It came to me And i wrote in hunch 'til four-thirty But that vestal light It burns out with the night In spite of all the time that we spend on it Om one bedraggled ghost of a sonnet While outside the wild boars root Without bending a bough underfoot Oh, it breaks my heart - i don't know how they do it So don't ask me! And as for my inflammatory writ? Well i wrote it and i was not inflamed one bit Advice from the master Derailed that disaster Said; 'hand that pen over to me, poetaster!' While across the great plains Keening lovely & awful Ululate the last great american novels An unlawful lot left, to stutter and freeze floodlit But at least they didn't run, to their undying credit