Alys: Architect, Prodigal and Witch.

Study me: Fixated.

Addict for his edict.
Edifice. Defiled. Column me in
Doric. Ionic. Priapic.
Not ruminate: Brood.
Not well—but: barley bread.
(Lo, and alle man shal be refresshed)

The strut is pretended. The boy pose is
pretend, too. Mad, but muted.
Soft stomp in my stride.

But I am a weak in spite
of this walk.
And I am weak
in spite
of stone.

False weal of a withered tit
leaking its bitters, sluice
the inlet carved my chest
an S. S for Scarlet, mis-
re. Membered, dangling
what the draperies missed.

I am not convinced
of fire. (Ignis. Ignes.
LIAR!)

There is little balm in this suck of poultice
you press to my chapped mouth

(a way of happening)

Your spit is vinegar drink.
And tongue, pity's sponge.

Any number
of words.
(would do)
Any number. Any word.
47. Quatro. Or, Quarto—a room.
Canto:
A piece of the body.
A piece.

The tail end.
Or heads up.
Or now, and every shall be.
Or foreclose. Forlorn. Four part
madrigal

who bleated her way
back to

(Mama fold?
Daddy fold?)

No body
in particular.
What sin? No matter child
but we
welcome
you. Enfold.
feed, sleep. Be granted
reprieve.

And spend the gold
like a new born thief.

He stole. I'll steal.
O practiced weal of the shriveled
breast. You were unloved.
I was unmet.

We made a tinder bed
to burn heretic. Then pages.
The poet witch, in cinders.

Her weird rage, a cage of flame.

(I am not con-
vinced of:

FIRE!)

Where were you sister?

I?

I was
killing
swine.