I pronounce a damn on the familiar ache in my beloved left foot and
turn away from myself.
I stick out the tip of my forked-feeling tongue at the bastard
clock on the stairs. I note the hour on it with a fainness in my
spirit-gizzard to dedicate Me from that time forth to a big blue god
of Nastiness: Nastiness so restful, humorous, appetizing, reckless,
sure-of-itself.
--these hellish To-morrows creeping in their petty pace: they bring
in weak-kneed niceness, and they bring in doubts, and they bring in
meditation and imagery and all-around humanness, till I’m a mere
heavy-heeled dubious complicated jade.
_In my black dress and my still room_