Three Visions of Beatrice

                        I--Romantic

                Beatrice is pure song,
        so elegantly spoken,
        a philosophy shaken
        into a new language,
        demanding new lips
        and a new heart,
        to speak her for who she is.

                        II -- Modern

                Think of the indigo-haired Beatrice
        swivelled on a white horse, jouncing.
        Think of the hell-promising Beatrice--
        astraddle a hot white stallion, jouncing.
        Imagine her lolling in that mount,
        the Word become flesh, a lilting.
        Are her eyes burnt-gilty-siennish?
        Think about that, as well.
        Are her lips two dévergondes?
        Think about that--
        and think about her jet hair lashing
        harsh, trim, priest-entrapping thighs.

                        III--Postmodern

                My pure religion has come to this:
        hushed frigging lust for a black-haired
        rouged cut, a naked, cramped space,
        the exquisitest harlot of our epoch,
        my belly jammed on that thin-haired
        mound, succulent, succubine orifice,
        its black, wiry hairs twined
        and twisted into the hairs rooting
        my bolt, plunging plunging.


George Elliott Clarke
Durham NC
From the "Beatrice Chancy" manuscript