this twilight made its way in through the window the ships' masts                                      motionless
in it  holding still quiet to keep from disrupting the twilight
coming in to the counters at the rear of the market
where men stared into their wine getting all tangled up
hassled by women from the south
commands from their breasts like sweet alarms
the twilight in from africa the great devourer
was tying up in port with dangerous heavy movements
unloading beasts of sadness guns traps imitation ebony
the twilight lord and master
moved around the old market dealing out intimate blows
stupors of love and especially sweet disasters
faces under the influence of wine
that toward nightfall started to grow like uneasiness
like the smell of old women scrounging in garbage heaps in Santos
harbor  and it was eleven o'clock in the glory of the day overhead but not                          over the
greatest among those women
gentle sweet woman lost in the saliva of so many local men
torn apart devoured women old now with eyes dried up
like the evaporation of the drawn out kisses the last
spoils of darkness the old crones scrounged
for oranges rotting fish leftovers of the big show
hugging the dust greedy old women at the dancehall door
where sailors traded the sea for beerhall hookers
yarn-spinning sailors who smelled like monsters blind men dancing                               pressed up
against flat breasts  where do these things happen
where do these things happen where do scraps of love drift to their
final rest
oh how they must still echo down the ages
let me have the answer grandchildren
so cruel in your good hearts