There is an unreality to my sadness as I happen to recall our child whom I've killed tonight in Calcutta, as cars rush back like madness to their individual orgies, as the rains splash down on my sick city like benediction, Calcutta my beloved and my oblivion, as I stare past your agony of yester-years like a cat walking nine lives like fantasy, as you stare past my memories hanging loose like mascara after lush quickies, after Calcutta, after desire, after defeats
