
Poppies in July Ned Rorem
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Little poppies, little hell flames
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth
A mouth just bloodied
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes that I cannot touch
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep!
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule
Dulling and stilling
But colorless. Colorless
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth
A mouth just bloodied
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes that I cannot touch
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep!
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule
Dulling and stilling
But colorless. Colorless
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