Discarded women asking why
Like the overbearing sky
Affected him so forcefully
He had to lie


Enjoying a steak or a
Succulent waitress
He becomes complete
The world is his mattress

And in deep night

Asleep, but his fingers
Are writhing like moles
Deep in a memory
Chutney of girls

Then beyond dreams

In that silence never knows
What silence is nor can suppose
He floats or shrinks or is not but
Comes flashing in desire to rut

And when it's done

Smoke receding through a veil
Not seen but felt, a face caught upside down,
A crooked smile, a salt mother, down,
Memory censored, a blank wall.
Rest of a kind, though small.

Wayne Carvosso

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