“Then, as if in unbelief, We clad our separate selves In a dead rasp Of pimpled chicken skin, And picked the spots One by one and Watched as the blood signed its thin red Hand on our throats.”
“Then, as if in unbelief, We clad our separate selves In a dead rasp Of pimpled chicken skin, And picked the spots One by one and Watched as the blood signed its thin red Hand on our throats.”