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Description
There is a beautiful bird that sings
so splendidly; the sun shines warm;
everything smells all like cinnamon.

There was spring and death on the dew
that cock-crow, and the village girls felt it
in their breastbones: a bass knell
like moments before thunder, deep
in its gravity and they wove feverfew
garlands and bracelets against it.

They found me with white
scarves at my neck, tying me silent,
(apples meandering over the floor)

and pretty Marjorie pitied me,
fucked me under the juniper tree;
chirps and sighs, libidinous lament,
she twined my feathers in her hair.

glory glory glory—
3 o'clock bells shivered soft and I felt it
it in the angry arches of her
brow-back-knees, cacophonous
in her clutch and she caged me that day.

I wanted her to fly away with me.