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They will fall in rain down long sparsely lighted streets hiss on silvery windowpanes moisten the lips of girls leaning out to stare after the footfalls of young men who splash through the glimmering puddles with nonchalant feet. They will slap against the windows of offices where men in black suits shaped like pears rub their abdomens against frazzled edges of ledgers. They will drizzle over new-plowed fields wet the red cheeks of men harrowing and a smell of garlic and clay will steam from the new-sowed land and sharp-eared young herdsmen will feel in the windy rain lisp of tremulous love-makings interlaced soundless kisses impact of dead springs nuzzling tremulous at life in the red sundown. Shining spring rain O scud steaming up out of the deep sea full of portents of sundown and islands, beat upon my forehead beat upon my face and neck glisten on my outstretched hands, run bright lilac streams through the clogged channels of my brain corrode the clicking cogs the little angles the small mistrustful mirrors scatter the shrill tiny creaking of mustnot darenot cannot spatter the varnish off me that I may stand up my face to the wet wind and feel my body and drenched salty palpitant April reborn in my flesh. I would spit the dust out of my mouth burst out of these stiff wire webs supple incautious like the crocuses that spurt up too soon their saffron flames and die gloriously in late blizzards and leave no seed. _Off Pico_ XII Out of the unquiet town seep jagged barkings lean broken cries unimaginable silent writhing of muscles taut against strangling heavy fetters of darkness. On the pool of moonlight clots and festers a great scum of worn-out sound. (Elagabalus, Alexander looked too long at the full moon; hot blood drowned them cold rivers drowned them.) Float like pondflowers on the dead face of darkness cold stubs of lusts names that glimmer ghostly adrift on the slow tide of old moons waned. (Lais of Corinth that Holbein drew drank the moon in a cup of wine; with the flame of all her lovers' pain
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