Poetry Archives

                        a blue woman with sticking out breasts hanging
clothes.  On the line. not so old
for the mother of twelve undershirts(we are told
by is it Bishop Taylor who needs hanging

that marriage is a sure cure for masturbation).

                          A dirty wind,twitches the,clothes which are clean
—this is twilight,
                          a little puppy hopping between
skipping
              children
                            (It is the consummation
of day,the hour)she says to me you big fool
she says i says to her i says Sally
i says
          the


                  mmmoon,begins to,drool

softly,in the hot alley,

a nigger’s voice feels curiously cool
(suddenly-Lights go!on,by schedule