The moon is over the windmill. I sit here with a blanket around my shoulders. The daisies are all collapsed. It is very quiet. A dog is barking. I hope I can leave the garden soon. A clicking insect measures out a portion of the lightest breeze. Alexandra changed her name to Chandra, so many parts of her body and mind resembling the moon. I inhaled her essence yesterday afternoon when I walked near the shore where I first saw her breasts revealed. And who else visits me in a spinal chill. And moistens the eyes. They are gone now, many blonde faces. There is that bird that feeds on moonbeams, a kind of partridge. I think I could be clean again. I could live with you, beloved. You dance so gracefully with my head. And Chandra goes by lightly, silver and coughing, with the moon between her shoulders, stars attending each of her hardened nipples. It is truly quiet now. A wave bends me over the blue table, and a dream of the mountain rolling down over the roofs and the daisies. When can I be with you again. When can I put my hands in the blood. The moon begins sliding down the mountain toward the sea. Your nipple like a planet, ringed like Saturn. I will never forget you. It is years and I have not forgotten the kisses of our mouths. We are hidden behind our plans. Lenore, are you here. Dundi, untouchable as the other telephone. Over the daisies, across the lane, fifty feet away is the chapel of Agia Tichon. The prayers of others wash over me. I will defend the chapel. I have been placed at the foot of this heap of daisies to defend whatever is in my eyesight and under my nose. Now you may go to sleep with all your kindergarten pals. I cannot always be on my knees, swooning before the lord. I have to feed the swine. I have to sit on them. I have to come riding out of the moonlight and get the jelly from their feet.
I got the jelly from their feet
ya ya ya
I got the jelly from their feet
ya ya ya
I got the jelly from their feet
it’s very thick
it’s very sweet
I got the jelly from their feet
ya ya ya