More Mina for Erica

Mexican Desert

The belching ghost-wail of the locomotive
trailing her rattling wooden tail
into the jazz-band sunset. . . .

The mountains in a row
set pinnacles of ferocious isolation
under the alien hot heaven

Vegetable cripples of drought
thrust up the parching appeal
cracking open the earth
stump-fingered cacti
and hunch-back palm trees
belabour the cinders of twilight. . . .



Time-Bomb

The   present   moment

is   an   explosion   ,

a   scisson

of   past   and   future



leaving

those   valorous   disreputables   ,

the   ruins   ,



sentinels

in   an   unknown   dawn

strewn   with   prophecy   .



Only   the   momentary

goggle   of   death

fixes   the   fugitive

momentum   .

Virgins Plus Curtains Minus Dots

Latin Borghese



Houses hold virgins

The door's on the chain



'Plumb streets with hearts'

'Bore curtains with eyes'



Virgins             without dots*

Stare                beyond probability



See the men pass

Their hats are not ours

We                 take a walk

They are going somewhere

And they      may look everywhere

Men's eyes             look everywhere

Our eyes            look out



A great deal of ourselves

We offer to the mirror

Something less to the confessional

The rest        to Time

There is so much of it      Time

Everything is full of it

                      Such a long time



Virgins may whisper

'Transparent nightdresses made all of lace'

Virgins may squeak

'My dear           I should faint'

Flutter . . . . . flutter . . . . flutter. . . .

. . . . 'And then          the man--'

Wasting our giggles

For we have no dots



We have been taught

Love is a god

White              with soft wings

                     Nobody shouts

          Virgins for sale

Yet where are our coins

For buying a purchaser

Love is a god

           Marriage expensive

A secret well kept

Makes the noise of the world

Nature's arms spread wide

Making room for us

           Room for all of us

Somebody who was never

                            a virgin

Has bolted the door

Put curtains at our windows

See the men pass

They               are going somewhere



Fleshes like weeds

Sprout in the light

So much flesh in the world

                   Wanders at will



Some         behind curtains

Throbs to the night

Bait              to the stars



Spread it with gold

And carry it home

Against your shirt front

To               a shaded light

With the door locked

Against virgins who

Might              scratch

* Marriage Potions

[From The Lost Lunar Baedeker, Mina Loy (FSG, 1996)]  9:12 AM Comment |