12 MARCH 1954, Page 14

Cowboys of boys, gangsters that straddle streets Like bed, they

pause, sit lazy on your lip, Or dawdle near that fence, lean, watchful, spare— Then into love like heavy hitting fights With lurching limbs they hurtle through the air.

These words though pondered are not white, ingrown, Sadistic in their ambiguity And twisting flesh they gloat upon alone, But stand with legs apart, sunburnt, erect, Thoughtfully trampling superfluity: . Like hug, or fist on jaw they are direct.

Bestride my misery, oh men of words, Run down the lubber tears he bred, and ride Him rounding up the turning eunuch herds Of stallions giddy with much liberty.

Slaughter them, and that beast you are astride Break him until he is not misery.