Testimony Regarding a Ghost

THE ROSES slanted crimson sobs

On the night sky hair of the women,

And the long light-fingered men

Spoke to the dark-haired women,

�Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelier.�

How could he sit there among us all

Guzzling blood into his guts,

Goblets, mugs, buckets�

Leaning, toppling, laughing

With a slobber on his mouth,

A smear of red on his strong raw lips,

How could he sit there

And only two or three of us see him?

There was nothing to it.

He wasn�t there at all, of course.



The roses leaned from the pots.

The sprays snot roses gold and red

And the roses slanted crimson sobs

In the night sky hair

And the voices chattered on the way

To the frappe, speaking of pictures,

Speaking of a strip of black velvet

Crossing a girlish woman�s throat,

Speaking of the mystic music flash

Of pots and sprays of roses,

�Nothing lovelier, nothing lovelier.�

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