Waiting lies heavy on my lids. It lies like sleep, Like a big sea. Far off, far off, I feel the first wave tug Its cargo of agony toward me, inescapable, tidal. And I, a shell, echoing on this white beach Face the voices that overwhelm, the terrible element.
What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love? I have never seen a thing so clear.
This is a disease I carry home, this is a death. Again, this is a death. Is it the air, The particles of destruction I suck up? Am I a pulse That wanes and wanes, facing the cold angel? Is this my lover then? This death, this death? Is this the one sin then, this old dead love of death?
I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love. It is a love of death that sickens everything. A dead sun stains the newsprint. It is red. I lose life after life. The dark earth drinks them.
The face in the pool was beautiful, but not mine– It had a consequential look, like everything else, And all I could see was dangers: doves and words, Stars and showers of gold–conceptions, conceptions! I remember a white, cold wing.
There is a snake in swans. He glided by; his eye had a black meaning. I saw the world in it–small, mean and black, Every little word hooked to every little word, and act to act.
Narcissa: The Princess | The name Narcissa is derived from Narcissus, a beautiful but vain character in Greek mythology from which the term narcissism, which refers to vanity and elitism, is derived. The name can also be derived from the flower by the same name, known as the daffodil.
