Poetry In Lotion

“Lust is a force…

Art and war are the great manifestations of sensuality; 

lust is their flower,”

so said Valentine de Saint-Point

Lust has driven me to wage war with men,

and to make art of them;

has served as a source for creation

from the very destruction lust catalyzes

These words are a propaganda for that war,

for that creation–

to both of which I am inexorably bound

I have wandered the city streets looking for men

Finding them

Watching them

Haunting them

Dealing with them

and their PATRIARCHITECTURE

their fortresses

their erections

Excavating their quiet faults 

and secret vulnerabilities;

the soft places you can touch and smell

only if you get past the security guard:

the powerful warmth coming off the naked pelvis

the phallus–hard and dumb–

moving toward you

the loins, ticklish and round

the furry cradle of the perineum

the delicate pleats of the anus;

cinched;

autumn leaves;

aromatic;

hot

like his wet breath

and the sweat trapped between his body and my back

heavy heat

steam releasing strength

scalding

the burn of a ribbon of semen when it first strikes the skin

before it gathers

and quiets

and settles into a deep pool

Cold Water

A drink

A quench

Ice water in a glass gathers perspiration

and sits tilting on the arm of a chair

I want to dive into that glass

and ice

and cold water,

in a flash,

and float

Shimmering wet cold enveloping

Skin puckering

Shivering pale

Your cold water

The boy is naked there

Floating wet and cold

And even the glassy beams of sun 

that reach him in the bottom of the swimming hole

are chilling, 

like icicles

icicles

“Where are you going?” ◊ ◊ ◊

Lust has kept me in this city

When long ago “I should have flown” ◊ ◊ ◊

“Oh-oh, oh-oh-oh Desire” ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

My Foe

My Failure

My Ruin

Ruin

Ruin

Ruin

Ruin

________

◊ ◊ ◊ From  “Icicle” by Tori Amos

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ From “Sawdust and Diamonds” by Joanna Newsom

(Source: ginaperforma.wordpress.com)

Plowed earth,

the old twentieth century way,

a garden

You manage your steed

in old jeans and sneakers

When the blades strike root

or rock,

                        the machine launches forward,

pulling you behind it,

bucking bronco;

you don’t let go

This scene isn’t like any movie,

there are no trailers;

only you,

your parents looking on.

and my admiration,

pleasure

in watching you just happen to be

                        that man we’ve always heard of

For a moment I understand

how the ideal imitates the real

Nothing at all in particular

is remarkable about this moment,

except that machine,

and its power between your hands,

and the look on our round faces;

marvelous,

attentive,

working together,

Rototiller

April, 29, 2012

*Title taken from the dance, Ambient Cowboy, by Ivy Baldwin

Copyright Ryan Tracy