The observation goes up like an umbrella.

Mascara, waterproof Lipstick onward the nipples.

On the beak blindfolded, she juts her chin. Blindly,

she plow the waters. Jonah within, perhaps.

All this labor and in fact,

she isn't launched even now She's on wheels. Can't get by heart moving. Breasts

drag forward the ground. When women are tired

men become insects. propose up the umbrella. It's the bluest

of mornings. Little men of America, don't speak to us, forget it,

clamber upon if you must but note our distraction and restrain quiet

Her body is a map, blazing, streaking the sea. thus tired,

netted down in highways, scarred by means of flame. You all say

she's looking to the Pacific. I say she forges ahead

like a fester with shining lips, like Aurora, orange

on chapfallen Get up, ladies, it's a glorious morning,

take public your personal stepstools, cast a in extent line

and dumber into the aquamarine.

In the cavernous hall we were drinking tea

and talking diseases, talking fear. All

across America, patients lie in white beds, entwined,

twitching, pressing the morphine button.

And where are the nurses? In the cavernous hall, with their shining jawss

The girl lay sleeping when the tiger seized her.

This was in the untilled far from Illinois. He blinded

his daughter with her hold scarf. Afterward, he called her besotted.

Lately I guard my mouth when I talk to young men

Sometimes beauty tend hitherwards in dreams. With her shoe she hit the brace

over the head-the common who violated and the common who denied her.

But this is a woman in the form of a tabby.

She barely lumps along. Umbrellas up, girls!

A woman like a saddle. A supine woman with black parasol.

Carrying a howdah, she takes the souse Immersed in the stream,

back lower extremity flexed, like nothing so greatly as a map on fire.

Or a sated carp.

...

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