Fall 1966 • Vol. XXVIII No. 4 Poetry |

Welcome to the Grand Hotel

Jawbone shot loose, the dying leopard ranWith killer teeth hung in a slack grimace.Cleaned now, that tawny pelt beds-her lank thighs.A python's tube of skin, cut to her shoes,Taken so fast the leer of venomed headStill threshed, although the blade had gutted him. She knew that frightened animals grow tenseBut death in these kitchens sealed soft flavors inBy pan and knife, like sterile surgery.(It spoilt the texture if a lobster diedOf scalding, not of gradual heat exhaustion.)Man's exercise of privilege is taste. Dressed for the afternoon with chiffon trailsOf scarves and veils, she breathed the glittering air:Her limbs' metallic sheen assumedA place in natural order. PromenadeDes Anglais, where the tea-time sunlight falls,The color of a peach, on stone and stair. Invisible exigencies, dynamic laws,Invest the palm trees and the pink parquet,Gods of the yellow Sports Bugatti,Whose high, spoked wheels shone like the sun on sea.In the loud car she took her leather throneAs mov

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Hours in a Library

By Donald Thomas

Jawbone shot loose, the dying leopard ranWith killer teeth hung in a slack grimace.Cleaned now, that tawny pelt beds-her lank thighs.A python's tube of skin, cut to her shoes,Taken so […]

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