It is raining. Fall! You whitelivered kill-joys Fall! You heavy bellied sluts, Fall from the sky! Fall onto the edged leaves, Let the bayonettes of the grass Receive you -- Drive you to the ground: There be broken finally -- and your life ends! As for me --? Beat upon my head And upon my shoulders You frighten me but little. Let your very eyes pop out Against the feather I wear And dance down the edge Of my sombrero --! I'll keep my way in spite of all. Only the flowers Are kind to them -- Lips opening upward. |