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PLEASE DO NOT SMOKE
Kelly: Whether it be
stones that crush
or just the madness of a thrush,
what difference? Or is the pain
of wasted trees and April rain
less bitter than a night of stars?
Stars and stilettos leave their scars
Except that one will not heal ever.
Christ! shall I be an ass forever?
Goosebaum (from upstairs window): Kelly!
Kelly:
Goosebaum,
your bright hair
wavers in the greasy air,
and eyes that stagger from a room
are scarlet tanagers of doom.
Goosebaum: The air is growing hot as wine:
Vengeance, saith the Lord, is mine.
Kelly: Higher higher
higher higher
leaps the dagger of desire.
Goosebaum: Cyril Kelly, come upstairs.
(Kelly goes upstairs)
Goosebaum: Before the moon climbs Kaplan's store
(to Death) will you be the devil's whore?
Kelly:
Mister Death!
Death:
The final grace
of horror blooms upon your face.
Kelly:
It is not empty eyes that kill.
Death: Nor a
dead sun upon a hill?
Kelly: The
facile canker of the Seem
gnaws the substance of the dream.
So we are birds that fly by night
in a forest of delight,
blunder loosely anywhere,
in the bright fantastic air
(the trees-are odorous and fair).
Goosebaum: Apes will always bay the moon
and angels howl for love in June:
Kelly weeps because a flea
may not outgrow infinity.
Death: Cabbage
from Kackstein's cafe
and saints that saraband and pray
are God: and so the spastic dance
of essence and circumstance
reels in ineffectual rage.
Fly your masochistic cage
of life, Kelly. Soar with me
to silence and eternity.
Kelly: Then
kill!
(Death stabs Kelly)
The candid windows of the Night
flare with unexpected light....
Buffoon!...
as
published in larus, The Celestial Visitor, May 1927. |