Hair-braided chestnut,
coiled like a lyncher’s rope,
Eyes-fagots,
Lips-old scars, or the first red blisters,
Breath-the last sweet scent of cane,
And her slim body, white as the ash
of black flesh after flame.
by Jean Toomer
And thus the people every year in the valley of humid July did sacrifice themselves to the long green phallic god and eat and eat and eat. T...
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