Gedicht
A. B. Jackson
Ruth
Ruth
Ruth
Ruth at sunrise, grooming horses.The bit, bridle, curry-comb of love
was her business.
Simeon skulked around indoors,
consulted Qabalah, threw sticks,
anything to improve sex.
Clouds were locomotive smoke,
camels or torn pillows,
the imperfect
science of moodswing or a god
in evidence everywhere, the veil
obscuring male from female.
Ruth gathered apples. The Elohim
stamped in their stalls.
© 2005, A. B. Jackson
From: The Dark Horse magazine
from \'Apocrypha\'
From: The Dark Horse magazine
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Ruth
Ruth at sunrise, grooming horses.The bit, bridle, curry-comb of love
was her business.
Simeon skulked around indoors,
consulted Qabalah, threw sticks,
anything to improve sex.
Clouds were locomotive smoke,
camels or torn pillows,
the imperfect
science of moodswing or a god
in evidence everywhere, the veil
obscuring male from female.
Ruth gathered apples. The Elohim
stamped in their stalls.
From: The Dark Horse magazine
from \'Apocrypha\'
Ruth
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