She swaggers through
The citrus spring light
The rind of a dirty street
Her denim behind whipping
The tail that snaps men's necks
Their wooden skulls crack
Like ancient caryatids
In her presence
It becomes more difficult
To remember who you are
Broken-winged pigeons
Feet locked in frozen puddles
Men severed below the torso
Pulling on with their hands
God she knows from the look
Of her thin grin her sharp smile
We saw her in the alley, squatting
she laughs like a rattling coke can
And says she is a maiden
Who has lost her head
