1917-1935

The Flesh

the flesh has a dry eye
it carries a belly in each wrinkle
word by word
line by line
it chills its lease
its phantom nightshades look mischievous
upon seeing above its rouged head
its weather vane whirling
at a respectable height
and uttering the last word
the flesh fits itself
it always knows itself
slowly slowly it betakes itself
for the weather is verrucose
the flesh tissue holds well
its liquid curls
libidinous as a poplar
the flesh acquiesces with the smell of a brilliantined honors list
three times the universe knocks on its shield of horn
come in come in come in
now the contour of its breathing stands up
with mercury lips on it tongue
which glides over the contour
with square wheels
that spin when the spokes pause
and that pause when the spokes spin
year by year are years without years
day by day are days without days
step by step the boots articulate across the live pipe
strapped free and easy in the linen of their years
as in a well-fitting close-fitting cage
year by year are years without years
step by step are steps without steps

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