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525 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1918
For M. Chagall
FLARE
The curls of black hair from the nape of your neck
is my treasure
My though finds you out and your thought
meets mine
Your breasts are the only bombshells I love
Your memory is the searchlight focusing the night
for us
Searching the wide rump of my horse I thought of
your haunches
There go the footsoldiers on their way to the rear
reading a newspaper
The stretcher-bearer's dog comes back with a pipe
in his mouth
A tawny owl yellow wings dull eyes beak of a little
cat and cat paws
A green mouse darts off through the moss
The rice has scorched in the camp cooking pot
The meaning of that is you have to be careful about
a lot of things
The megaphone cries
Lengthen the range
Lengthen the range love of your guns
Indecision of guns heavy cymbals
Waved by cherubim mad with love
In honour of the God of Armies
A bare tree on a knoll
The noise of tractors climbing a valley
Oh aged nineteenth-century world full of tall
chimneys so handsome and pure
Virilities of our century
Oh cannons
Bursting powder charges of the bombshells of 75
Ring out your bells piously