45*21

The hunting man and the gambling man
are in church this morning praying
as if they meant it and in their mind
thinking of a new conquest, not sure
if they are conscious of it, they open the book
it falls open weakly and there are music notes
and words of which they know very little.
In the blackness of the night room
lying awake for hours on end
not being able to rest for long
Getting up to wash his face, he sees
someone he does not recognize
the mirror is a hidden room and the man
is fishing for an answer from the specter
in a shadowy light, groping you might say
for some kind of truth.
The mind lets go. He is eating chocolates
sweating, smelling acrid and he begins to disappear
The rational man is at home with his thoughts
growing brighter by every second
lit by a notion of a corpulent industry