A figure masked by cloth and camphor fumes,
In all the gloom devours unforeseen louse,
All clocks and time dissolve to winds of plumes.

Poor child alone with mind ever more in tombs,
An umbrella for leg and no school house,
A figure masked by cloth and camphor fumes.

Toward the starving grace that is the wombs,
All limbs flounder toward the harvest mouse,
All clocks and time dissolve to winds of plumes.

A truant and whiskey hound, your blossoms bloom,
A lady paints her face and darns her blouse,
A figure masked by cloth and camphor fumes.

The stale tobacco smoke seeps through the room,
The rats in the grain flee to the whore house,
All clocks and time dissolve to winds of plumes.

The burnt sailors find a seraph to groom,
Peacocks birth mirrors for thunder to rouse,
A figure masked by cloth and camphor fumes.
All clocks and time dissolve to winds of plumes.

Advertisements