In the hotel room (far above the city) I said I bet you can't crawl around the room like a dog hoho. But she could! All our cities are lewd and slippery, most of all San Francisco where people fuck in the fog wearing coarse wool. And in Los Angeles the dry heat makes women burn so that lubricants are fired in large doses from machine guns. We'll settle the city question by walking deeply into forests and in reasonably vestal groves eat animal meat and love. I'm afraid nothing can be helped and all letters must be returned unopened. Poetry must die so poems will live again. Mines: there were no cities of golden-haired women down there but rats, raccoon bones, snake skeletons and dark. Black dark. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODES III, 29 by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN by AESOP GOLDEN HILL by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG PSALM 16. CONSERVA ME by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE CROMWELL'S SOLILOQUY OVER THE DEAD BODY OF CHARLES by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |