The peacocks are fasting
On the burnt-out rubbish
Of yesterday
The motorway flicks past
And trucks pull in for an
Instant
There is the Club Panther
Studded with dusty flowers
The mountains reaching out
Beyond
It is the end of the road for tonight
At least
Inside a naked woman sits upon
A clothed man’s knee
Eyes cross then glance up
In the half-light
The morning will be blinding.
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