Tuesday, July 17, 2018

The Thing


.
.
How do we account for it or her?
All she had to do was stick her nose
outside for the inevitable to occur.
All sentient beings noticed and arose,
.
became her entourage, adoring
but respectful of her patent need
for space – their hushed imploring
faces silently adhering to a creed
.
belonging to a faith they’d breathed
in from her like a sacred atmospheric
breeze – which lent new life that seethed
as if into the primal stage of stratospheric
.
orgasm that sex with god or goddess
is proposed on evidence to be. But what
exactly was she doing to effect this 
deluge of response? Was she shut
.
or open to the importuning eyes 
that could not not embrace her, whole?
Was her ineluctable divinity, disguise? -
or a bless├Ęd incarnation of the Soul? -
.
or the divisive dissonant deception 
so inherent in her unplumbed mystery
that human psyches lacked perception
to investigate the sordid history
.
of this phenomenon of demi-god
whose virtue they began to disbelieve -
this fake, now a likely demon of the sod
not the celestial ether: how could she relieve
.
their existential agony, assuage 
their ache to be released? She’d spilled her
falsity herself : tainted blood! So in a rage -
deserved? we cannot know - they killed her.
.
Where or what we wonder is the moral?
What are we here or there for?
(Oh, make it soar all vast and choral!)
You’re the thing that you prepare for.
.
.

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