Night is a cup of evil. Shrilly a police

whistle pierces it, like a vibrating pin.

Listen, bitch, how come if you are gone now

the flicker is still black and still makes me burn?

The Earth has coffinesque edges in the dark.

Listen, bitch, don’t come back.

My flesh swims, swims

in the cup of darkness still aching me;

my flesh swims in her,

in the marshy heart of woman.

Astral ember … I have felt

dry scrapes of clay

fall upon my diaphanous lotus.

Ah, woman! Flesh formed of instinct

exists because of you. Ah, woman!

That is why—oh, black chalice! even after you left

I am choking on dust,

and more urges to drink paw at my flesh!