- Morfydd 2
- Beyond the orchids you might
see the rubber flesh
swelled fruit, and in the
central domed rotunda,
counting table supports a lacquered ultramarine box
inscribed with a naked pot-bellied child,
rifle tossed over one shoulder.
along the edge of the box was carved
alternating series of silver bells and mangoes
color of milk-tea. It is always
the triangular black hand
upon the armchair
in a corner behind a bead curtain—
undersized monkey’s paw
a miniature silver bell
a basket of mangoes the color of milk-tea.
false ones, repeat themselves
like red ribbons
about in the heat
the town must swim through.
black hand is only a design on paper
of dark stamps from a distant civilization.
remainder of this paper strip
at first to be filled with a great number of small teeth,
in a way seldom seen in this region, yet
coalesce into a delightful piece of newspaper fluff
the English Doctor’s rather difficult marriage.
It is rumored that the syphilis medicine
locked in the box
that next to the inevitable syringe
a fountain pen with a gold seal
a local bottled ale. You see,
drunk, every stinking
the water appears
be a chime on a long string of chimes,
a sort of charm against these recurring bad dreams.
The mangoes sit beneath a yellow silk umbrella,
air darkens them to blue eggs
stretches their forms into a chain of crescents
and down the greenhouse wall. Like
the jungle, khaki-colored
half a dozen white bungalows
along the perimeter like small, perfect
Beyond all this, a one story
spiritual citadel stacked among the millionaire’s imported pines.
comes the incredibly tiny river
over to the left as one leaves,
waves hidden behind the pagoda’s aggravating
- rash of roses.
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