Great Works:  home texts page archive next poem

Traditional

I like my women long — eyes and bodies,
and I like my
days short like
dolls that
pillow against your bust, and
I like my days cut short by a
sudden,
bloody euphoria, I
like my days dead,
haughty
and hungry, somehow the
swollen, frozen heads of
reclining
sculpture like so many
hollow women, cut and dried
like
virgin forests, like the
disturbing rustle of fall, like
wasted memories