Mute God's Torpor
I think about all that I don't understand about sex
from its venomous withholding to its fountainous lure
I think I'll make a list:
whispers whistling as the thrush,
the roseate hue
soft curves tautened
corrugated heart beat
foul nethers,
the addictive acridness of your beloved's smell
the fightin' urge to assert my own primacy
coarser sublunary trivialities
mute god's torpor
longeurs and mundanities,
penetrating the musty concave fibers of distant galaxies
disconsolate blue after
wan remnants
In short
we screwed and then chatted
disinterestedly
retired to our separate corners of the ring
to replenish and satiate our thirsts
for reddit and for tiktok
respectively
I thought
Why write a poem? There are loads of poems
shelves sagging from the unread weight of them
I think I'll make another list:
because that folk singer died and I can't remember his name
so much to say 'bout
yr aunt's vacations, slavic ant vocations
heaven extends even unto the transactional sphere of corporations
because all I have left of my grandfather are his poems
wasps hum, roosters crow,
My folks are gone
my kids are gone
the stars remain
through these barren trees
Labels: digital sheets, Edification, hump and long, lists, sex and the human condition, shelves of distraction, stars in their courses, The lathe of heaven, wainwright