“There is pre-laid and post laid
Yeats, when he saw that first big ass,

He got better, slightly.”

The old poet, she takes
The tobacco out of the cigarette

And sticks the chopped leaves to her tongue.

She said all that,
So now I can say it.

I want to keep her,
Here.

She also said something about odd
Numbers being art and

Being even is bad art.
I try to remember, I am privy,

But whatever.