Mac OLIVER

LAPSED BATH @ THE COLUMNS
IIIIIIIVV

She, even she, overrun,
Has regarded, forced to, the stiffness
Of death, sunk into spells into
Drinking puddles, out of breath,
Empties green upon
The pavement's gray. Doorslammed, her hem drags
On the road. She has had to re-
Consider, turned by crowds into a fe-
Line stray, though shapely still
Against the moon's mass:
She drinks in sinking suns until
Evening & she's stared down
Easily by sunblind men. Even she
Would rather with her hair down run uncon-
Solably, even
As she has always wished, emptily
Collapsing under the moon's hard spells.

Copyright © Mac Oliver, 2001.  All Rights Reserved.

TABLE OF CONTENTS    NEXT PAGE