Think
fast!
(Still dreaming . .
.?)
The boy had caught his friend
Flush with a lobbed cannonball of snow.
But then they crossed the closed street hand in hand.
Their dog sprinted
in
zigzags like a minnow,
Or wallowing in too deep, leapt out like a deer,
Folded forepaws leaping, then his rear ...
From two floors up, two floors below
is
deep . . .
They don't know it, but sometime someone will come
And take her hand and feed her to the moon.
THE SHRINE
So now you've fettered that sweet bride,
The boy you've toyed with a while and gelded,
And still not
come,
wretched sod!
Suck yourself off, like
in
your dream!
Innocents, white and fresh, bless them,
They belonged down in your love grotto;
They hiccup and honk on the slick flags
Looped with turds and the squashed-flat intestine.
Nothing helps, Marquis! Oh try
The scaffold again, with your bald pregnant nun;
The hired child caresses her ripped breasts;
She fingers herself, and releases the pretend-droJr-
Nothing helps! At least, at least-
Sade save our republican Mistress, France!
Kiss the Courreges boot, de Sade,
The stockingful up to the stocking top.
Beyond you lies the shrine, between
The slopes of Zion, past the alehouse.
Refresh yourself, drink deep. The brine!
The salt and gall, your honey and wine!
Frederick Seidel
