Onanism

Onan had it right,
spurting his seed, red for the counting
upon an asiatic desert floor.

Sometimes it seems hard
for me to find a centre, longing for release.
Amazing, is it not, what man's hand can do?

("Man's hand", of course). The invading
stream of consciousness,
never certain, but always shooting out.

The wet dust, creamed to perfection,
a metaphor, perhaps, of our
abusive lives. Who to hurt? Who to pleasure?

An empty gesture, yes,
but wanking is such sweet pleasure.
It always wins, hand over hand.