The Bride, The White Bride Today A

Pero Yo Ya No Soy Yo Ni Mi Casa Es Ya Mi Casa. But Now I Am No Longer I, Nor Is My House Any Longer My House.

Devoutly The Teachers Point Out Huge Fumigated Domes; But Beneath The Statues There's No Love, No Love Beneath The Eyes Set In Crystal. Love Is There, In Flesh Ripped By Thirst, In The Tiny Hut Struggling Against The Flood; Love Is There, In Ditches Where Snakes Of Hunger Wrestle, In The Sad Sea That Rocks Dead Gulls, And In The Darkest Stinging Kiss Under Pillows.

The Poem, The Song, The Picture, Is Only Water Drawn From The Well Of The People, And It Should Be Given Back To Them In A Cup Of Beauty So That They May Drink - And In Drinking Understand Themselves.

The Mirror Is The Mother Dew, The Book Of Desiccated Twilights, Echo Become Flesh.

I Put My Head Out Of My Window And See How Much The Wind’s Knife Wants To Slice It Off. On This Unseen Guillotine, I’ve Placed The Eyeless Head Of All My Desires.