Well, I'm sitting on the side of the road
Contemplating this and that
The either/or
of my neither/nor...

As I look at dune grass sway and shadows play, I realize:

Most of my writing is baroque
It lies in the rapacious rococo realm of the sensual
Overdressed, Overblown
Salome's biblical dance weaving
between the fibers of every gaudy veil
that obscures diaphanous thought
with smoky kisses and John The Baptist's blood.

The stuff awash with the sweat of the sin in skin
The carnal in the carnival...

The siren call is my mantra
It opens me up to the universe
Seduction is the oxygen I breathe

The paradoxical struggle of
The irresistible force meeting the immovable object
is a favorite of mine.

One that I invoke time after time.
The truth is
I want my Odysseus to tie himself to the mast of that mighty ship tightly
as I quire to him
Then... I want the sheer power of his desire for me
To cut those ropes free, even against his will
Even as he fears
the inevitability of his destruction
The melting of his Icarian wings
The final splash
the last gurgle of a heady breath
as his lungs fill with the reckoning of an inordinate craving
that can only be sated
with the undulations of my body.


Here's the caveat...
My siren song does not end as a crashing into rocks...
It will, instead, be a releasing to his higher self
through the rapture of the seeming of our seething
we would find the emergence of true being...

Yet...
I don't want to feel this anymore
The sex
The pyre of desire
The immolation
The hot lick of the hellfire

I want to feel...
Nothing
A blank unholy nothing

The biggest crime against nature
is to deny her...
The possibility.
That's why everyone loves the Spring
La Primavera is the queen of swing
Gaia is bursting with a symphony of pleasure
The air is an orgy
A spinning riot of color and forms
The lusty waxen combs of honey
Dripping
with the potential for anything...
Life breaks free of all confines
Through the cracks in pavements
Through the fissures in walls
Through the soil's sullen chambers
Every layer of Earth rejoices.
Possibility is the most seductive state of being....
She cries
"Look Pa, no hands!"
As she dangles the fruits of Winter's labor
Lusciously.


Bees buzzing
Trees cumming
Birds humming
Blossoms lose their inhibitions
To the wind and spread their petals wide
In anticipation of every sunrise
The rain soaks the thirsty loam
The sea spumes a delicate filigree of foam
Inviting, delighting in the song of the fishes
The musky scent of satisfaction
Permeates it all

As it should be

Anything else is an abomination
A bitchslap to the natural order of things
And should be Chuck Norrised
Into the stone age
with all the other stark deniers of life's truth

The truth is
We are here
to fuck and be fucked
Creating more fuckers and befuckers.
That's just the way it is.
Propagation is the reason for life.

Life is the gift that keeps on giving
With a fractal certitude that is
The fusion of poetry and science.
Quantum Physics meets Relativity
while reciting a Shakespearean sonnet
and dancing to a Mozart waltz.
But I am neither a fucker nor a befucker.
Lately, I have become a weed
A dandelion wish kissing a hurricane...
Lost & blown apart...
Maybe my seeds will land somewhere, someday, carried on butterfly wings
but for now I feel like an inert gas in a vacuum of madness
A thing released from the embalmed breath of mummified memory

My leading man is the Phantom of the Opera
Our libretto was written by Gepetto
And in it Pinocchio has outgrown his nose
And cutoff his apron strings
So I sing the St. Thomas Blues
Blue as I can be
A hooey
A hooey
That man's got a heart like a rock cast in the sea
Or else he wouldn't have gone so far from me

To him with plangent voice, I sing my aria,
"Oh child of the moon
Plant your seeds in me...
My soil is moist and fecund and longing for the plunge of your spade..."

The child of the moon smiles placidly
and drifts away on the Wizard's balloon.

I think I'm going to bury myself
In layers of fat and fascia
and hide for a while.
I did it once before

Funny thing was how healthy I stayed
Because I did not gorge myself crudely
but fill myself I did
With a prodigious amount
of ambrosial foods
so pure
That even the angels could not demur.
My doctor was certainly amazed.

It's astonishing how a thing that climbs
Under your dermis and swells it up
Cushions it, protects it
Can seem so vile to the naked untutored eye.

Reubens saw the beauty in the soft rounded form
Of course, he was both a hedonist and a genius
Too much is never enough for such a one.

But for those of a grim, tunneled ascetic nature
Who are stringent of soul and astringent of heart
Even the most beautiful symmetrical features become distorted
Under swell of fleshy carnality

And so one ceases to feel
like an object of desire.

You're insulated
from everything during that time
It's like walking around in a bubble world
I'll be a bubble girl.

It's a Socratic syllogism in applied psychology:
The moment you cease to feel desirable
You become undesirable.
Ipso facto
Roll me in Playdoh
Cover up my mojo
I'll be a snowy doughy Pillsbury girl
With vanilla glazed thighs
And chocolate chip eyes

It's safer this way

I will cease being tempted
by that rare divine male
For whom I loom large
As he zooms into my view with a sonic boom
Mostly because I will cease being
a temptation to him.

I am never interested in a man who has no desire for me.
He must want me.
Since
It was the apple tree that we eyed in Eden
not the pumpkin patch,
I will put a latch on the hatch
Of my sexuality.
Lock it tight
Bury it with Kryptonite
And not even Nietzsche's Super Uberman will be able to set my yoni free

With my feminine essence gone
I can be at peace
On the edge of the Nile
In Denial
Like Dante's demon's dreams swimming
Along the river Lethe,
I'll forget.
Mnemosyne is too divine for the likes of me
Besides omniscience would be boring as fuck
I thrive on mystery.

I have done it once before
Bury myself in flesh
to abort the womb of need

I remember Andreas
A tasty Bavarian pastry of a man
Whom I met by a roll of the galaxial dice

He was my physical therapy
Figurative and literally
I've always had a thing for the Nordic male
I never realized it til now
Something about the fire beneath the ice
With eyes that sparkle like the faceted cut
of a diamond's blaze.
White hot in its stoicism...
Scorching me as I melt in his gaze

Every session with Andreas was like tantric sex
My Kundalini was coiled around the lotus of his third eye
And he reeled into me,
But I was married, you see
And so was he
And while we never engaged in the act,
We fucked each others auras

It just doesn't get better than that
He had an older Japanese spouse
who took care of his material and emotional needs
But neglected his physical ones.
He was a Stradivarius unstrung
but I could play his etude.

Like the good ex-Catholic school girl that I am,
Eventually
I hopscotched away from the our little recess fray.

When 4 months later we bumped into each other
All he could do was look at me and say
No, Lori, no... tenderly...
I had put on 40 pounds, you see
Very quickly
He knew why instantly...

We had that kind of visceral connection

Even after he
A few other golden delicious apples
Fell from their tree
rolling at my feet
And though their perfume was sweet
I just didn't want to chance
The infidelity
So...my word became flesh.
Mounds of it.
Yes, I think I'll do that again.
It will feel like a vacation.

When you take a vow
You should keep it
Doesn't matter if your partner desecrates it
You can only control how you treat others
Not how others treat you...

It's not that I'm unhappy
It's just that I'm hungry
So I'll eat what my integrity affords me.