blue carpet rolling you up,
and the grass caught at your face--
it couldn't have been spiteful--
it must have been saving itself.
Hot road... silly wind playing with your hair....
The road smelled of horses.
I only got up
when I heard a dray.

: :

Mama has sung ba ba black sheep,
and put a chair with a cloth on it
between me and the light.
But the clock keeps saying:
Dirty little beggar,
dirty little beggar....
Some day
I will get that boy.
I will pull off his arms and legs
and put him in a box
and hide the box
under the bed....
I wonder
will he buzz
when I take him out to look at his body
that will have no arms to whip me?

Mama drew my cot to the window
so I can look at the stars.
I will not look at the stars.
There is a black chimney
throwing up sparks
and one tall flame
like gold hair in a blaze....
I know now
what I shall do....
I will set fire to him
and he will burn up into a tall flame--
he will scream into the sky
and sparks will fly out of him--
he will burn and burn...
and his blazing hair
shall light up the world.

: :

Before he hit me--
I knew he was going to--
I thought about Jude....
I thought if he'd fight...
but he shriveled all up...
he lay down like a fear.

Mama never knew about Jude.
You always wanted to tell her,
but somehow you never did.
You were afraid she'd smile
and say he wasn't real--
that he was only a little dream-boy,
because the grass didn't fall down under his feet....
He is fading now....
He is just lines... like a drawing....
You can see mama in between.
When she moves
she rubs some of him out.

MONOLOGUES

JAGUAR

Nasal intonations of light
and clicking tongues...
publicity of windows
stoning me with pent-up cries...
smells of abattoirs...
smells of long-dead meat.

Some day-end--
while the sand is yet cozy as a blanket
off the warm body of a squaw,
and the jaguars are out to kill...
with a blue-black night coming on
and a painted cloud
stalking the first star--
I shall go alone into the Silence...
the coiled Silence...
where a cry can run only a little way
and waver and dwindle
and be lost.

And there...
where tiny antlers clinch and strain
as life grapples in a million avid points,
and threshing things
strike and die,
letting their hate live