Mendelssohn, I’m working here. The collected poems of Anna Mendelssohn

Soft, soft, the lan­guish shocked
ter­rible pit­ted think & lost
city     swti­ched semio­tic drink
rigid through pale tube,     pallor
of the jaun­di­ced eye, soft swum
cin­na­mon, soft, the languished
suck,  a wind bob­bing in beauty
drizz­led by ter­rible patterning
ins­ti­tute Taste, rowed behind
clo­sed streets, dark camouflage
on the flanks of the swam,
retrea­ted, untoi sip, hea­ding on
the camps glo­wing, ener­ge­tic magpies
perch bet­ween para­ding for food
beneath the arching cave-lamps
soft, soft, the lan­guish shocked

by an emp­ty series of neu­tral doorways
once again there, oblivious,
regu­la­tion par­lour, contai­nable situations,
flicks through manual, pin­cer on number
appro­priate, approxi­mate, checks time.