Fall 1993 • Vol. XV No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 1993 |

Ecstasy

For years it was in sex and I thought   this was the most of it, so brief a moment     of transport out of oneself or in music which lasted a little longer   and filled me with an exquisite agony     of the blues and now it is equally transitory   and obscure as I sit in my broken     chair that the cats have shredded by the stove on a winter night with wind and snow   howling outside and I imagine     the world at peace, imagine everyone comfortable in the warmth   of justice, and my body twists in     sensual gratification.

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