Chicago May

CHICAGO MAY PART I—ROME Drceaner I ‘Tus is my hour of peace; the great sow snores, Blowing out spittle through her blubber lips, ‘Champagne and lust still oozing from the pores. Of her fat flanks; then, let my hate eclipse All other lamps of my pale soul, and flare— A curst star sparking in the strangled air! Her shapeless limbs are sticky with stale sweat; Yet, she would wake if I withdrew, belch hard The ferments of the fodder, turn, and fret This inch that is the ruins of a yard. Is there no sparrow, ram, ass, bull can stay The “ love"—dear Jesus |—of Chicago May? u Like salt pools in a marsh her skin is, soiled With labours and abortions, stained and red With her low birth and her high feeding, spoiled With moles and wens, and fat, fat, fat. To Z