|
Last night, again, |
|
you were in my dreams |
|
several expendable limbs were at stake |
|
you were a prince, spinning rims |
|
all sentiments indian-given |
|
and half-baked |
|
I was brought |
|
in on a palanquin |
|
made of the many bodies |
|
of beautiful women |
|
brought to this place to be examined, |
|
swaying on an elephant: |
|
a princess of india |
|
We both want the very same thing. |
|
We are praying |
|
I am the one to save you |
|
But you don't even own, |
|
your own violence |
|
Run away from home- |
|
your beard is still blue |
|
with the loneliness of you mighty men, |
|
with your jaws, and fists, and guitars |
|
and pens, and your sugarlip, |
|
but I've never been to the firepits with you mighty men |
|
Who made you this way? |
|
Who made you this way? |
|
Who is going to bear your beautiful children? |
|
Do you think you can just stop, |
|
when you're ready for a change? |
|
Who will take care of you |
|
when you're old and dying? |
|
You burn in the Mekong, |
|
to prove your worth, |
|
Go Long! Go Long! |
|
Right over the edge of the earth! |
|
You have been wronged, |
|
tore up since birth. |
|
You have done harm. |
|
Others have done worse. |
|
Will you tuck your shirt? |
|
Will you leave it loose? |
|
You are badly hurt. |
|
You're a silly goose. |
|
You are caked in mud, |
|
and in blood, and worse. |
|
Chew your bitter cud, |
|
Grope your little nurse. |
|
Do you know why |
|
my ankles are bound in gauze |
|
(sickly dressage: |
|
a princess of kentucky)? |
|
In the middle of the woods |
|
(which were the probable cause), |
|
we danced in the lodge |
|
like two painting monkeys. |
|
I will give you a call, for one last hurrah. |
|
If this tale is tall, forgive my scrambling. |
|
But you keep palming along the wall, |
|
moving at a blind crawl, |
|
but always rambling. |
|
Wolf-spider, crouch in your funnel nest, |
|
If I knew you, once, |
|
now I know you less, |
|
In the sinking sand, |
|
where we've come to rest, |
|
have I had a hand in your loneliness? |
|
When you leave me alone |
|
in this old palace of yours, |
|
it starts to get to me. I take to walking, |
|
What a woman does is open doors. |
|
And it is not a question of locking |
|
or unlocking. |
|
Well, I have never seen |
|
such a terrible room- |
|
gilded with the gold teeth |
|
of the women who loved you! |
|
Now, though I die, |
|
Magpie, this I bequeath: |
|
by any other name |
|
a jay is still blue |
|
with the loneliness |
|
of you mighty men, |
|
with your mighty kiss |
|
that might never end, |
|
while, so far away, |
|
in the seat of the west, |
|
burns the fount |
|
of the heat |
|
of that loneliness. |
