In The Towers Are The Reproducers Poem by Warren Falcon

In the towers are the reproducers

Within the clean bronze
Their walls were stood
Ready to receive her
And later became all
the intricate trills

She pushed her way through
The pivot points

A deep lactation
In the most ravishing shades

Simulate the Pleiades
The rich magenta

Running water is much the best
Whether she wept as she then drew out
Watering the date gardens

She stepped over warm spurting blood

You should have heard her cry
'Ya Ali' and her loud hell-hella