欧宝娱乐

“All books are merely delayed dust.”
― George Elliott Clarke

“I wanted you, nameless Woman of the South,
No wraith, but utterly鈥攁s still more alone
The Southern Cross takes night
And lifts her girdles from her, one by one鈥�
High, cool,
wide from the slowly smoldering fire
Of lower heavens,鈥�
vaporous scars!

Eve! Magdalene!
or Mary, you?

Whatever call鈥攆alls vainly on the wave.
O simian Venus, homeless Eve,
Unwedded, stumbling gardenless to grieve
Windswept guitars on lonely decks forever;
Finally to answer all within one grave!

And this long wake of phosphor,
iridescent
Furrow of all our travel鈥攖railed derision!
Eyes crumble at its kiss. Its long-drawn spell
Incites a yell. Slid on that backward vision
The mind is churned to spittle, whispering hell.

I wanted you . . . The embers of the Cross
Climbed by aslant and huddling aromatically.
It is blood to remember; it is fire
To stammer back . . . It is
God鈥攜our namelessness. And the wash鈥�

All night the water combed you with black
Insolence. You crept out simmering, accomplished.
Water rattled that stinging coil, your
Rehearsed hair鈥攄ocile, alas, from many arms.
Yes, Eve鈥攚raith of my unloved seed!

The Cross, a phantom, buckled鈥攄ropped below the dawn.
Light drowned the lithic trillions of your spawn.”
― Hart Crane, The Bridge

“a kite is a victim you are sure of.
you love it because it pulls.”
― Leonard Cohen

“ouch, an egg!”
― Franklin Pierce