I
THAT street washed with violet
Writes like a tablet
Of living here; that pavement
Is the metal embodiment
Of living here; those terraces
Filled with dumb presences
Lobbed over mattresses,
Lusts and repentances,
Ardours and solaces,
Passions and hatreds
And love in brass bedsteads . . .
Lost now in emptiness
Deep now in darkness
Nothing but nakedness,
Rails like a ribbon
And sickness of carbon
Dying in distances.
II
THEN, from the skeletons of trams,
Gazing at lighted rooms, you’ll find
The black and R
(Kenneth Slessor)
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Based on Topics: Passion PoemsBased on Keywords: embodiment, hatreds, carbon, solaces, mattresses, lobbed, bedsteads, repentances