Are Just Another Damn Song
Up in the rectory
The Virgins are doing snowdances
until the sky opens up salonlike,
staircased and unchaste against the church.
The Lovers wake
ferocious, their nightmares
drip on the pillows: visions of St. Theresa
gorging herself on asphodel.
The Madmen are out. They tell me
that my hands are whimsical
that my face is quality liquor, girlish.
(Far away) Rockaway Beach takes
and takes and keeps on taking. I feel it bodily
as I feel brightly-wrapped Christmas presents.
I wanted handcuffs
but you bought me