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Lust at play | by Henry Bew
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Lust at play

A bat arcs on its parabola

Towards a moth, flapping its

Peppered wings above a dying lamp.

The sickly glow picks out the rat’s sheen-black

Fur, shuttling from bin to gutter while

Its flesh-winged equivalent

Clicks in on its indolent prey sating

Its drunken light-lust, teetering around

The glow’s edge before canine teeth

Clamp head to abdomen, crush flesh

And swallow; fragments of dusted

Leaves spin round the lamp-post

And rest on two lovers’ shoulders.


Henry Bew, 2012.




This marks an exciting and sad day: this is the first of what, I hope, will be a number of photos and images taken on my new camera; I'm really excited as the possibilities it will open up! I still have clutch of poems and images to work up from my old, trusty companion but, for now, here is a new beginning. I sense a memorial ode coming on...

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Taken on August 8, 2012