Poem #104

Unconscious desire…

All I could see from where I stood…

from “Renascence”, by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Each thing was seen from there I lie
in bed: the cloth to hide from thy
hot light, the mop that asks, “How strong
is that?”, by toys not for the young,
then, seek neath eyes for guilt to find
the crime is sleep that reels from grind
to fall in sheets, to wake in sweat,
from zeal of Jones’s miss in fret,
each thing was seen from there I lie
in bed: the itch of vice, mein sigh.

Across from such anxious objects,
I sat in chastity, suspects
in me that dance villainy mare
in whole, that try to cool, terror
in crescendo are lost in play,
all things were seen should stay,

yet, course, the ring is large, I scold,
years and years along in hands that hold.

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