FOLLOW A WORD THROUGH THE COLLECTION
Search the corpus.
Phrase search ignores case and repeated whitespace. All-words search finds whole words anywhere on the same page. OCR errors can affect results.
4 matching pages
Page 1 of 11914 · PDF PAGE 4
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 …
1914 · PDF PAGE 14
…e Burst—hence Chicago. Would He had been mute! No, by the Lord! This hate is a pure joy Like everything that’s pure . . . (the great sow snores/) That's the catastrophe that breaks the boy! n in sleep this hoariest of whores Maintains her reputation. Keep away ‘The breath of scandal from Chicago May! xiv T nicknamed you Chicago May because ‘Your husband was a broker in the “Pi And mother called you Mary; but the clause Holds yet another attribution. It Was a thief, prostitute, assassin—ch ?— Who rots in prison as “ Chicago May.” Her name I give…
1914 · PDF PAGE 11
…sculpture, harmony, and song? Your god's your belly, and your pride your shame You are weil fitted with Madonna's name! x (The great sow snores.) Ab, but she holds me still. If T but turned, she would be up and doing, Crazy with lust or jealousy. Hog-swill Stirs her to phrenzy, quarrelling or wooing. Her wreath is mustard-leaves entwined with myrtle: Her turtle-dove combines the snapping turtle!
1914 · PDF PAGE 8
…t human could so prostitute the aims Of those high souls compact of light and bliss And truth. Shall mere anatomy refute? (The great sow snores)—oh, certainly a brute! Yet, if a brute, why should I hate you so? Because you are my own race turned to dung? ‘Things nearest to us plague us most, we know. ‘Why should such “why?” come tripping to my tongue ? It is love's shrine itself that you pollute; And that is why I hate you, prostitute “Make me a baby!" May a cancer gnaw Your womb! A dropsy make your belly burst! ‘The word of “ baby” in your mon…