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Songs to Joannes

II

                              The skin-sack
In which a wanton duality
Packed
All the completion of my infructuous impulses
Something the shape of a man
To the casual vulgarity of the merely observant
More a clock-work mechanism
To which I am not paced
                    My finger-tips are numb from fretting your hair
A God's door mat
                             
                              On the threshold of your mind


~Mina Loy