Through portico of my elegant hous… With your wild furies, disturbing… And the fabulous lutes and peacock… Of all decorum which holds the whi… Now, rich order of walls is fallen…

The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat… The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The fire makes it precious,

Open-mouthed, the baby god Immense, bald, though baby-headed, Cried out for the mother’s dug. The dry volcanoes cracked and spli… Sand abraded the milkless lip.

Take the general mumble, blunt as the faceless gut of an anonymous clam, vernacular as the strut of a slug or a small preamble

Arena dust rusted by four bulls’ b… The afternoon at a bad end under t… The ritual death each time botched… stabs, The strongest will seemed a will t…

At this wharf there are no grand l… Red and orange barges list and bli… Shackled to the dock, outmoded, ga… And apparently indestructible. The sea pulses under a skin of oil…

Up here among the gull cries we stroll through a maze of pale red-mottled relics, shells, claws as if it were summer still. That season has turned its back.

Enter the chilly no-man’s land of… Five o’clock in the morning, the n… Where the waking head rubbishes ou… Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscu… Which seemed, when dreamed, to mea…

Over your body the clouds go High, high and icily And a little flat, as if they Unlike swans, Having no reflections;

They are the last romantics, these… Upside—down hearts of light tippin… And the fingers, taken in by their… Grown milky, almost clear, like th… It is touching, the way they’ll ig…