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 | Chicago Poems |  |
FIGHT
RED drips from my chin where I have been eating.
Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.
Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.
Clots of red mess my hair
And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.
And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.
I was a killer.
Yes, I am a killer.
Yes, I am a killer.
I come from killing.
I go to more.
I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.
Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices
of my inside bones:
The child cries for a suck mother and I cry for war.
I go to more.
I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.
Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices
of my inside bones:
The child cries for a suck mother and I cry for war.
| Chicago Poems | |