I love your big, night eyes

Calvus, you big cunt. Money is

missing and the Vatican smells you.

Now quit shitting, I know of some locations

where I keep my dog, my child and my poems.

It is bad to dent a client's savings.

It is tantamount to missing work because you're drunk.

Now, you're not my man, but I think you could benefit from a beating,

which is not as desperate as your labors.

It is magnificent, horrible, sacred and libel!

When you solicit Catullus for advice

you'll miss continuity and die like a rat.

Saturn will turn but you will die!

If luxury and a library

are your interests I'll bite your chin.

I love your big, night eyes Calvus

but you're a pest not a poet.

To poem

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