The Book of Repulsive Women/Twilight of the Illicit

You, with your long blank udders And your calms, Your spotted linen and your Slack'ning arms. With satiated fingers dragging At your palms.

Your knees set far apart like Heavy spheres; With discs upon your eyes like Husks of tears; And great ghastly loops of gold Snared in your ears.

Your dying hair hand-beaten Round your head. Lips, long lengthened by wise words Unsaid. And in your living all grimaces Of the dead.

One sees you sitting in the sun Asleep; With the sweeter gifts you had And didn't keep, One grieves that the altars of Your vice lie deep.

You, the twilight powder of A fire-wet dawn; You, the massive mother of Illicit spawn; While the others shrink in virtue You have borne.

We'll see you staring in the sun A few more years, With discs upon your eyes like Hucks of tears; And great ghastly loops of gold Snared in your ears.