I belong to them,
To these whom I hate;
And because we can never know each other,
Or be anything to each other,
Though we have been the most,
I sell so much of me that could bring a better price.

RIOTS

As if all the birds rushed up in the air,
Fluttering;
Hoots, calls, cries. 
I never knew such a monster even in child dreams.

It grows: 
Glass smashed;
Stores shut;
Windows tight closed;
Dull, far-off murmurs of voices.

Blood—­
The soft, sticky patter of falling drops in the silence. 
Everything inundated. 
Faces float off in a red dream. 
Still the song of the sweet succulent patter.

Blood—­
I think it oozes from my finger tips. 
—­Or maybe it drips from the brow of Jesus.

THE CITY AT NIGHT

Life wriggles in and out
Through the narrow ways
And circuitous passages: 
Something monstrous and horrible,
A passion without any master,
Male sexual fluid trickling through the darkness
And setting fire to whatever it touches.

That is the master
Bestowing a casual caress on a slave. 
Quiver under it!

VANITIES

BREAD POEMS

LULLABY

I lean my heart against the soft bosomed night: 
A white globed breast,
And warm and silent flowing,
The milk of the moon.

EMBARKATION OF CYTHERA

Like jellied flowers
My inflated curves
Melt in the peaceful stagnance of the bath. 
If I were to die
I would resist the final agony
With only a faint quiver
From my escaping thighs.

CHRISTIAN LUXURIES

The red fountain of shame gushes up from my heart. 
I throw back my long hair and the fountain floats it out
Like a fiery fan. 
My wide stretched arms are white coral branches. 
The liquid shadows seek between my amber breasts.

But the fire is cool. 
It cannot burn me.

NARROW FLOWERS

I am a gray lily. 
My roots are deep. 
I cannot lift my hands
For one thin yellow butterfly. 
Yet last night I grew up to a star. 
My shade swirled mistily
Seven mountains high. 
I lifted my face to another face. 
The moon made a burning shadow on my brow. 
Washed by the light,
My sharp breasts silvered. 
My dance was an arc of mist
From west to east.

EYES

There are arms of ice around me,
And a hand of ice on my heart. 
If they should come to bury me
I would not flinch or start. 
For eyes are freezing me—­
Eyes too cold for hate. 
I think the ground,
Because it is dark,
A warmer place to wait.