Oh strong-ridged and deeply hollowed
Nose of mine! what will you not be smelling?
What tactless a**es we are, you and I, boney nose
Always indiscriminate, always unashamed
And now it is the souring flowers of the bedraggled
Poplars: a festering pulp on the wet earth
Beneath them. With what deep thirst
We quicken our desires
To that rank odor of a pa**ing springtime!
Can you not be decent? Can you not reserve your ardors
For something less unlovely? What girl will care
For us, do you think, if we continue in these ways?
Must you taste everything? Must you know everything?
Must you have a part in everything?