Her Lips Are Copper Wire
whisper of yellow globes
gleaming on lamp-posts that sway
like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog
and let your breath be moist against me
like bright beads on yellow globes
telephone the power-house
that the main wires are insulate
(her words play softly up and down
dewy corridors of billboards)
then with your tongue remove the tape
and press your lips to mine
till they are incandescent
Jean Toomer
1923
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
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