Now the day with too much red in it,
lamplight cutting the eyes like ammonia.
Now the night with no end, no housecoat
long enough to cover me, no evening charm.
Nothing but carcasses of leftover poems
rendered in blood and agonized over.
Now the day with too much red in it,
lamplight cutting the eyes like ammonia.
Now the night with no end, no housecoat
long enough to cover me, no evening charm.
Nothing but carcasses of leftover poems
rendered in blood and agonized over.