From William Blake’s “The Rose” and the Collages of Helen Adam
take her petals now, slowly. hold them in
your mouth and feel how they yield, melt,
twist into insects. some witchcraft cradles you
talons first.
some chord within her loses its tune.
the rose petals cracked and bore fruit
a dark secret love, all red lips and long nails
whispered a breathing exercise: no no no no
recite the orbit of the earth. recite the poetry
of men. the cries of harpies
and wind on blue cloth. no no no
the illness that has killed the garden spreads
worms lay crushed on grey sidewalks. taste that
no no no arsenic is a woman’s weapon
you can buy it from her isn’t she pretty
no no typhoid mary had it right
insects make the best familiars they do not
cry out. taste her softness on your lips
greater men have foamed at the mouth.
there is something deliciously colorless here
like damp earth when the storm is past.
