clinking glasses of Ruf-
finno to the “effer-
          vescent destitution
of Rimbaud”, their lips
          are apple tarts. Poets
in the Hamptons worship-
          ing Plath like an oven
mitt worships the blood moon.
          Poets in the Hamptons
blurbing poets in the
          Hamptons writing about
poets in the Hamptons
          breaking their backs for 
the cowboy life, the blood
          diamond veneers, the con-
crete spectacle. Poets
          in the Hamptons complain-
ing about poets in
          the city complaining
about poets in the
          Hamptons—O god I’m just
like them—Somebody get
          me a drink.