Classic Poem

It is raining.
Fall!
You whitelivered kill-joys
Fall!

You heavy bellied sluts,
Fall from the sky!
Fall onto the edged leaves,
Let the bayonettes of the grass
Receive you—
Drive you to the ground:
There be broken finally
—and your life ends!

As for me—?
Beat upon my head
And upon my shoulders
You frighten me but little.
Let your very eyes pop out
Against the feather I wear
And dance down the edge
Of my sombrero—!
I'll keep my way in spite of all.

Only the flowers
Are kind to them—
Lips opening upward.