of Walt Whitman as Gertrude Stein as a Stripper
You bright slut.
harden; the soft
exchange their billowing roses
and play out
and rhymed and country melodies,
but to men, but to women; but for
and switch of sex, they were the same
name to call to, ignoble godheads, all of us. Some debut.
We have given you—
we are each of
goodnesses, little lives of heavy
—your audience. O,
centripetal force, O, fugue
of poor lighting, of disco ball
hard down with a horror of height
and the midriff astrain with leaning of—low for them—this
Daffodil, do not
look past your
which are yours as they are yours to wed to
the son or the mother, the proud
nationalist, the kid
you had without border. This is
your mouth. This
is not your city. This nakedness
is yours but not this day—though it exists for no one else.
Who never aspired
to be a word
secretly Maverick, loose knot, drawn
god all at once?
There's no such name, but you
dark swaggerer. I have seen you
-overing. Render each beatitude
useless. Make us enough for us, beautiful soldier. The hungry
will be filled,
All the living must know you by now.
You have let