By Word of Mouth: The Poetry of Dennis Cooley

he replies to his critics

he replies to his critics why does it so offend you i should say the moon is a gland, perhaps mammary, that it secretes over us something we cannot see is a poultice and draws out of us strange secretions moves us to strange feelings what do you want from me that the moon should be a clear drop of amber a bone china plate that tings, elegantly, when you ding it a dinner bell a wine decanter is this what you want all you can tolerate is it that unthinkable i should say of her face it is rough it is tubercular why does this upset you why though you protest do you lash why do you think i should not say this why do you allow so little all the cosmetics you would paste over the cosmos The Poetry of Dennis Cooley / 29 ...