Make your own free website on

Songs to Joannes


                              The skin-sack
In which a wanton duality
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