Tuesday, September 7, 2010

The Bridge - Hart Crane

And while legs awaken salads in the brain
Lead to ecstatic night of passion elsewhere as
You pick your blonde out neatly through the smoke
Always you wait for someone else though, always.

We wait that writhing pool, her pearls collapsed
All but her belly buried in the floors
And the lewd trance of a final muted beat
We flee her spasm through a fleshless door.

Yet to the empty trapeze of your flesh,
O' Magdalene, each comes back to die alone.
Then you, the burlesque of our lust and faith,
Lug us back lifeward - bone by infant bone.

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