curled on the divan in her father's house,
the black, empty spirit, first entered her,
he tore out her eyes.
He entered through the eyes.
Once she was the college girl she talked like;
she would never lose her pretty ways.
In school she blew a lot of smoke,
got out of that;
now she's doin dope, and living it up.
One day in the lady's of the Flamingo Lounge
she brushed Sarah's beautiful black hair.
They'd met on Wednesday outside the Christian Science
Reading Room on Mass Ave.
Sarah was sixteen.
They found her Saturday morning
in a bathroom in the Fens with her throat slit.
Sarah, you had such beautiful hair!
Coming off a night of alcohol and dope,
the morning was Sunday,
she could not remember
who had brought her the bouquet of Roses.
It lay on the divan like a dream.