Pusillanimity? … Or Wisdom?

PUSILLANIMITY? … OR WISDOM?

I don’t hoard any furtive hopes
Beneath my cosy feather pillow
Nor dreams, nor wistful wishes
For fear they will make it lumpy
And give me a pain in the neck

Nonplussed

NONPLUSSED

A so innocent word need
Yet freighted with illusion
So intoxicated with desire

Go check any dictionary
Its explanation of toxic
Casts a light on the dark

Recognise: need is like fire
Good servant, a cruel master
“In order to …” master key

Pity The Nation

PITY THE NATION

Devouring its own entrails
For want of better nutrition
Glued to a sofa and a screen
All the bigger all the better
All the better to eat you up

Shrinking Violet: Shadorma

SHRINKING VIOLET

He sees her
Dance … delightfully
He thinks of
Asking her …
A disorienting thought …
Fills him with terror!

Core

CORE

Breath is all I have
Fear, desire, confusion
I retreat to breath

Mécanique De La Solitude

MÉCANIQUE DE LA SOLITUDE

All alone after pollination
Having relieved my aggression to the air
And gentle towards you now
Nothing remains but despair

I think of getting drunk
Like I think of suicide (So there!)
Or my present state – alone and emptied
Any way I can hurt you without appearing to care

… Hoping you will find out later
While beneath the gentleness, feebly, I think bad thoughts of you
Though you have not done anything
Just accepted me, as I asked you to

Dissatisfied all beknown
I wish to hurt you too
As you hurt me by not needing me
Desperately, as I need you

Dreams Not Real (Dreams Not real)

Come-on

COME-ON

If sex is magic
(And who are we to question?)
Let us explore it

The Plan

THE PLAN

One thousand golden days
Ten thousand sparkling thoughts
Spread out here before us
At least that was the plan

Masque Balls (Republished)

MASQUE BALLS

Waking dreams, flights of fancy;
mind’s eyes bright as phantasy,
conjoined twins wax ecstatic.
Tripping lightly the old fantastic,
“To battle!” both genders cry,
as ladies, painted, bustle slyly by,
caught up in nature’s rapture,
discreetly intent on decorous capture;
while line on line of plumed hussars
– Theirs not to reason why – give forth huzzahs.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Musings on the mating game.