  Captain Simmons’ legs Were praying after much capering. Legs can pray without kneeling When they steal pity from city streets. On Captain Simmons’ face Wrinkled inhibitions were giving Moth-eaten lace to that soft tolerance Where memory and dying desire sleep without dreams. Captain Simmons’ black suit Fitted him loosely while his mind Became him tightly, and the reason Flickered in his smile. For all of life he had hidden Beneath a loose generosity In order to escape the fact That certain of his thoughts Were supplied with tights and slyness, And his smile was a lit candle held For a moment uncertainly over this situation. If one mentioned that Captain Simmons Was possessed by the plight of eyes Like pinched chicaneries of fate, Above a face of visual penuries, One would only hide his essential parts Beneath the futility of explanation. |
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