(no subject)
5:
[The sullen night-wind sang itself to death with the smell of the orange in flower]
tongues harvest petals, larvae
back of the throat, petticoat pink
the girl in the dirty dress is dead
I wish I were a fish lit by phosphorescense
I wish I were in Stromboli
I wish I were blue-gilled and beautiful
a man folds the girl up in old newspapers
her wet hair a string of taffy, a rope, something
unraveling inside the man's eye
when he killed her he said listen
when he killed her he said
your soul, orange girl
he said windowsill
he said stone
while alive she replied
Oilslick, doorjam, something
passing through my right eye:
black cars and carousels and
pretty maids in a row.
[The sullen night-wind sang itself to death with the smell of the orange in flower]
tongues harvest petals, larvae
back of the throat, petticoat pink
the girl in the dirty dress is dead
I wish I were a fish lit by phosphorescense
I wish I were in Stromboli
I wish I were blue-gilled and beautiful
a man folds the girl up in old newspapers
her wet hair a string of taffy, a rope, something
unraveling inside the man's eye
when he killed her he said listen
when he killed her he said
your soul, orange girl
he said windowsill
he said stone
while alive she replied
Oilslick, doorjam, something
passing through my right eye:
black cars and carousels and
pretty maids in a row.