Beloved

Untitled

for S. H. M.

The beloved moves through moving smoke
through halls of peroxide, kitchens of silk
her laughter soaks
through slaughterhouse floors;
In bursaat and springtime, her ripe scent
brings the young men running--
from streets and fields, to her butcher's garden.

The heart of the world
cries out for its beloved: Our Lady of Cruelties, I glimpse her face
in each passing cry of leaves, along the highways;
in the jaws of language: alive, even now
A jouissance in the grimace, a red hunger
climbing the bored wind.

This parody
will not contain her.