“ Poetry is prose bewitched, a music made of visual thoughts, the sound of an idea. ”
There is no Space or TimeOnly intensity, And tame thingsHave no immensity
~ Mina Loy
We might have coupledIn the bed-ridden monopoly of a momentOr broken flesh with one anotherAt the profane communion tableWhere wine is spill'd on promiscuous lipsWe might have given birth to a butterflyWith the daily-newsPrinted in blood on its wings
She is yet like a diamond on a heap of broken glass.
Some say that happy women are immaterial.
