[The smoke that gathers blue and sinks]
The smoke that gathers blue and sinks
The torpid smoke of rich cigars
The torpid after—dinner drinks
The overpowering immense
After dinner insolence
Of matter “going by itself”
Existence just about to die
Stifled with glutinous liqueurs
Till hardly a sensation stirs
The overoiled machinery . . .
What, you want action?
The piano and the flute and two violins
A lady of almost any age
But chiefly breast and rings
“Throw your arms around me—
Aint you glad you found me”
Still that’s hardly strong enough—
Here’s a negro (teeth and smile)
Has a dance that’s quite worth while
That’s the stuff!
(Here’s your gin