Butterfly over the Colossus (1960)

II

The marble animal and man, the dangling sex

Now a pretext to haw at the thorn, and fable

Lawrence, as the vulva opens in fruitiness

To the natural wag of the salty language

Then to alight on the degree zero, on the title

To make a landing on the chest of a lover

Oh, lo, Oh lo, Oh lo, harbours the repetition

Of patterned consonants hard like fishermans hands

There is silence screaming to a point of no return

As the winter ice cracks open on a birthday cake

The bellow of a breeze, bulls the butterfly to bronze

A queen decorates the night with a misused K

Sir, dear, the latter, interred in the repository

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