HER soul was freckled
Like the bald head
Of a jaundiced Jewish banker.
Her fair and featurous face
Writhed like
An albino boa-constrictor.
She thought she resembled the Mona Lisa.
This demonstrates the futility of thinking.
EMANUEL MORGAN
Opus 6
IF I were only dafter
I might be making hymns
To the liquor of your laughter
And the lacquer of your limbs.
But you turn across the table
A telescope of eyes.
And it lights a Russian sable
Running circles in the skies. . . .
Till I go running after,
Obeying all your whims—
For the liquor of your laughter
And the lacquer of your limbs.
EMANUEL MORGAN
Opus 9
WHEN frogs' legs on a plate are brought to me
As though I were divinity in France,
I feel as God would feel were He to see
Imperial Russians dance.
These people's thoughts and gestures and concerns
Move like a Russian ballet made of eggs;
A bright-smirched canvas heaven heaves and burns
Above their arms and legs.
Society hops this way and that, well-taught;
But while I watch, in cloudy state,
I feel as God would feel if he were brought
Frogs' legs on a plate.
ANNE KNISH
Opus 187