Nasal intonations of light <br />and clicking tongues… <br />publicity of windows <br />stoning me with pent-up cries… <br />smells of abattoirs… <br />smells of long-dead meat. <br /> <br />Some day-end— <br />while the sand is yet cozy as a blanket <br />off the warm body of a squaw, <br />and the jaguars are out to kill… <br />with a blue-black night coming on <br />and a painted cloud <br />stalking the first star— <br />I shall go alone into the Silence… <br />the coiled Silence… <br />where a cry can run only a little way <br />and waver and dwindle <br />and be lost. <br /> <br />And there… <br />where tiny antlers clinch and strain <br />as life grapples in a million avid points, <br />and threshing things <br />strike and die, <br />letting their hate live on <br />in the spreading purple of a wound… <br />I too <br />will make covert of a crevice in the night, <br />and turn and watch… <br />nose at the cleft’s edge.<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jaguar-3/
