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