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The joy of incontinence

I had fantasized old age.


I’m giving up that old hat

and cane; the leisurely stroll

in the park; the impotence

at last; the fanatic heart of the man

who stares at the young bloods

making love on the grass. I’m done

with all that, and I shall rage

as that mad old man did once,

and screw the lot – the shrill birds,

and those arrogant cocks, stiff

in their office blocks – behind

their backs. And I shall call that

incontinence; of bone and flesh

and mind, which is a fine thing




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