Monday, December 24, 2007
The Fairies Win Tonight
Sibilance – a spray of esses –
whispered and effeminate –
vigilance – all eyes kept wide –
what fairy sprites arrive?
You’ve sought the heavy reddened
meat of life, the palpable, the rich
and full, the body and its pull –
all gravity and sex and sweat –
but here, at once, all glance
and wonder – evanescence –
hush – the lightest barest touch –
meandering: flesh made wry
seductive ambiguity – a breath.
All your masculinity harrumphs,
implodes and grumpily unloads
and backs into its cave. What
is there to save? Nothing’s
definite, so what’s the point?
What fairy sprites arrive –
whispered and effeminate, alive?
The hunk and haunch of you
derives no solace from their
sweetness. Fleetness is a curse.
Settle down and weigh significant
amounts! That’s what counts.
What fairy sprites arrive? They flutter,
and the mind contrives – discovers –
other softer more amorphous
kindnesses – they cool the meat and
beckon something round and light
to enter and suffuse the whole
with light. The fairies win tonight.