The virago
She had slept on her mat. The untouchable mat.
No I shall not sleep on it, on this black mat
On this untouchable mat.
this torn, longlasting, loneliness-born
Heat emitting and weak mat.
My mat ought to be white white white
Satisfying
There you go! Your mat , bone-white
There you go! Your mat, chalk- white
There you go! Your mat, spotless, squarish, straight.
Are you happy now? Imagination? Or would you wake up in
the dead of night
And shouting , shake up the sleeping night… “Where is the
white mat?”
The virago will sleep with so much pleasure on her ever-dark mat!
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