BENEATH trees whose leaves munch the air like jaws of crocodiles steeped in Nicaraguan waters, I sit, sipping milk from a sherbet glass in the moonlight. Trucks and elevated trains shatter the dawning. I think of how you have beaten your mistress, my temples throb, and I quiver, though I had much rather be asleep. Later on in the year, when the light of the jaded moon is faded the newspapers will lie crumpled in the fountains; the dust will begin to whirl down the streets in little typhoons; the city will be arid, the window-sills grimy; and the basins of the fountains half-filled with stagnant rain. I have sipped all my milk, the sherbet glass is empty but for moonlight, — I must try to sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSE OF DUST: 1 by CONRAD AIKEN THE BAD CHILD'S BOOK OF BEASTS: INTRODUCTION by HILAIRE BELLOC THE EXISTING POOL by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SMALL SELF AND THE LIBERAL SELF by JAMES GALVIN TO GALLANT FRANCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO MY CLASS: ON CERTAIN FRUITS AND FLOWERS SENT ... SICKNESS by SIDNEY LANIER |