Dream Song 3: A Stimulant for an Old Beast

 Acacia, burnt myrrh, velvet, pricky stings.

—I'm not so young but not so very old,
said screwed-up lovely 23.

A final sense of being right out in the cold,
unkissed.

(—My psychiatrist can lick your psychiatrist.
) Women get under 
 things.


All these old criminals sooner or later
have had it.
 I've been reading old journals.

Gottwald & Co.
, out of business now.

Thick chests quit.
 Double agent, Joe.

She holds her breath like a seal
and is whiter & smoother.


Rilke was a jerk.

I admit his griefs & music
& titled spelled all-disappointed ladies.

A threshold worse than the circles
where the vile settle & lurk,
Rilke's.
 As I said,—

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