Saturday, October 13, 2018

The Complete Nakedness of Billy

I hold auditions day and night
To look at each example in the light
Of clothes-less creatures, bare-ass forms,
And as each cools, confuses, warms
My ardor, I assess the essence, seek the Ur
Of nakedness in every him or her
Or combination of the two: the nude
Proliferating from banal to chaste to lewd,
Abetted sometimes (okay, often)
By my hands in sweet abandon on soft skin
Upon those evenings where the flesh
Insists that only touch can make it fresh
Again, beyond imagining, enshrined
In live apotheoses of the melting mind –
When what should now egregiously appear
But this: the ill-assorted body you see here!
Billy is the only one who’s dared
To come to me completely bared
Of anything remotely like self-consciousness.
Some think his head a monstrous mess
But I see in it disproportionately naked grace.
Billy doesn’t fake it. His soul is in his face.
I forget he isn’t wearing clothes.
He’d be just as naked wearing those.

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