Round The Next Corner

It’s at my own back I hear the engine throbbing
- & nowadays the rocket whistling.
A vast
metropolis - larger than any Marvell could
foretell - surrounds me.

The eternity is moment
to moment ... no desert, but replete; & so
stuffed that my (yours too?) ears sing!

Getting, contriving, keeping have filled entirely
my near-30 years...

I make no complaint
on account of the preservation of virginity
or for emptily doting on eyes, lips. breasts.

It's no marble vault but a filthy ditch I
continually think on - & me dead as a nail! –
that somebody someday somewhere will casually
fling me in.


A reminder of Marvell's fascinating poem about frustrated love & associated images.

In this piece the pressures - with eternity close by - are not due to deprivation but to too much rather than too little, & to the constant fear that a miserable death may be near at hand.