His wimple



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His wimple
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His wimple, his blunt-prowed face,
His low forehead, his skinny neck, his long, scaled, striving legs, So striving, striving,
Are all more delicate than she,
And he has a cruel scar on his shell. Poor darling, biting at her feet,
Running beside her like a dog, biting her earthy, splay feet,
Nipping her ankles, Which she drags apathetic away, though without retreating into her shell.
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Agelessly silent,
And with a grim, reptile determination,
Cold, voiceless age-after-age behind him, serpents' long obstinacy
Of horizontal persistence. BoyShoes
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Little old man
Scuffling beside her, bending down, catching his opportunity,
Parting his steel-trap face, so suddenly, and seizing her scaly ankle, And hanging grimly on,
Letting go at last as she drags away,
And closing his steel-trap face.
His steel-trap, stoic, ageless, handsome face.
Alas, what a fool he looks in this scuffle. MotorcycleBoots
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And how he feels it!
The lonely rambler, the stoic, dignified stalker through chaos,
The immune, the animate,
Enveloped in isolation,
Forerunner.
Now look at him! Discontinued Born Shoes
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Alas, the spear is through the side of his isolation.
His adolescence saw him crucified into sex,
Doomed, in the long crucifixion of desire, to seek his consummation beyond himself. Divided into passionate duality,
He, so finished and immune, now broken into desirous fragmentariness,
Doomed to make an intolerable fool of himself
In his effort toward completion again.
Poor little earthy house-inhabiting Osiris,
The mysterious bull tore him at adolescence into pieces,
And he must struggle after reconstruction, ignominiously. Bandolino Dress Shoes
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And so behold him following the tail
Of that mud-hovel of his slowly-rambling spouse,
Like some unhappy bull at the tail of a cow, But with more than bovine, grim, earth-dank persistence,
Suddenly seizing the ugly ankle as she stretches out to walk,
Roaming over the sods,
Or, if it happen to show, at her pointed, heavy tail Beneath the low-dropping back-board of her shell.
Their two shells like doomed boats bumping,
Hers huge, his small;
Their splay feet rambling and rowing like paddles, And stumbling mixed up in one another,
In the race of love--
Two tortoises,
She huge, he small. She seems earthily apathetic,
And he has a reptile's awful persistence. I heard a woman pitying her, pitying the Mere Tortue.
While I, I pity Monsieur.
"He pesters her and torments her," said the woman. How much more is he pestered and tormented, say I.
What can he do?
He is dumb, he is visionless,
Conceptionless. His black, sad-lidded eye sees but beholds not
As her earthen mound moves on,
But he catches the folds of vulnerable, leathery skin, Nail-studded, that shake beneath her shell,
And drags at these with his beak,
Drags and drags and bites,
While she pulls herself free, and rows her dull mound along