Sex and death
By Simon Barget
Take away the fill-in parts, the actor and the action
take away the scene, what’s left…
the spleen of raw emotion.
All that’s left is all it leads to, and all we are is sex and death.
We snuck a dry fuck in the park,
mounting hard, I climbed within;
obscure our sex with politesse,
but we owe our very modest chi to fucking’s hospitality
so should we not revere it?
On thirty years of gainful days and spoils of honest toil
hope’s florets bloomed then withered,
and when they did
we passed them duly to the kids
with what we know as love.
A group of friends came round last night;
our glassy chat clipped scarlet walls,
exploded laughs left vapour trails
and flutes of light licked seamless masks,
from the candles we had set.
We drank and then we laughed some more,
not unspontaneously. This is where the time stands still:
why hide yourselves, enjoy, be free,
the produce of a billion minds,
each thought is good and spry.
But it’s time to say goodbye…“Goodbye!”
It’s time to say goodbye.
So off to bed and lonely grave,
what else did you have planned tonight?