I must swallow it all.

Exacted her first simple sight for this strict second.

Nowhere.

Love, love, I have hung our cave with roses,

Cabbageheads: wormy purple, silver-glaze, A dressing of mule ears, mothy pelts, but green-hearted, Their veins white as porkfat.

This little Odyssey In pink and lavender

Such a dark funnel, my father!

Buzzed and assailed the vaulted brainchamber.

And sits in the center of her loveless spokes.

Her face red and white, a panic, You have stuck her kittens outside your window In a sort of cement well

And he, for this subversion, Hurts me, he

Of wars, wars, wars.

Nights, I squat in the cornucopia Of your left ear, out of the wind,

Trills its hurt out Above pitch of pedestrian ear, So, perhaps I, knelled dumb by your absence,

Obliquely with a dry-wet

Way up the river-basin.

Resistive, ruddy-bodied, Dwarfing us.

From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me, Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.

To quench his thirst I squander blood; He eats, and still his need seeks food, Compels a total sacrifice.

Not nails, and a mirror to keep the snaky head In safe perspective, could outface the gorgon-grimace

Inching off in the gray Chevrolet, drinking the green Poison of stilled lawns, the little clapboard gravestones,

But from leaf, from grass,

It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.

Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.

Searching my reaches for what she really is.

When one of them falls it leaves a space, A sense of absence in its old shining place.

They would have you sleep in their cabinets,

And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case Wears the face of a pharaoh, though it's made of mud and water.

When I split a rock one time

These are our crepes. Eat them before they blow cold.'

is closed; the tub exists behind our back:

You are too big. They must take you back!

So magical! A hot spring I must seal off and let fill

That, it seems, is the impossibility.

Love, love, and well, I was tired

Of animals to choir: 'Look what thresh of wings Wields guard of honor over these!' Starred with words

Some strange injury And seems to die: so vapors

Coming at me, like a castle, from the top of the river.

The smog of cooking, the smog of hell Floats our heads, two venomous opposites, Our bones, our hair.

He stamped and cracked stalks to the ground Which had caused his dear girl pain.

Is it the butcher, the grocer, the postman, someone I know?

Stiffens and odors bleed

I do not believe in those terrible children

From me like Isadora's scarves, I'm in a fright One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.

Still, they're our best mustering of height: by

No place, it seemed, for the effigy to fare Free from all molesting.

Sun struck the water like a damnation.

I have one eye, you have two.

The featurelessness of that cloud, now!

Pursuit Dans lefond des forks votre image me suit.