"This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air. - W. B. Yeats

Friday, October 1, 2010

In Which Words Come Together

original desire
seems still.
she saw
young language
in bare-breasted excitement-
don the styled winds,
in which we are lying
(laughing actual) clothes disarranged,
little smiles expensive.
not one lunatic creates
this lady.
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