The moon is a white hand on fire,
a skull's sign in the water, candled
on the drowning of night.
At the crossroads, the black dog howls;
six pups suckle and snarl on her scarlet milk.
The wind tastes of dangerous words:
war and righteousness, delicious with chocolate
The moon is burning, and still she knows
the time's come again for poor men to die.
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Image: Shadow With Pelvis And Moon, 1943, © Georgia O'Keefe
Fair use via wikiart.org