Food, drink and women
these are chains.
Possessions, too
Why add another?
Smoke
Good morning’s gate
the end and crown of meals
And swimming’s prize
chief adjutant of love and talk
And hunger’s stop.
Must smoke: an order, diktat, must
be damned compulsive joy
besides
the shrivelled tongue, the dirty mouth
the craving out of time and place
to spoil the music, spoil the play the pictures, manuscripts
wrecked tête à tête – he lacks a light
the running out
and shameful busy driven search for ends
that taste like hell.
This thing
that lends another barb to poverty
(as if it wanted more)
it is not fit.
This is the last
How sweet it draws
(was rolled with ease – foolish regretful fingers call)
But gird your loins, my hero: high
Upon this final tripod and prophesy
the coming joys of clear-eyed liberty.