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Thursday, October 01, 2015

Nature Metaphors

The question occurs as we occur
that everything is about touch
and the communication of it,
and how much we can procure;

for our fingers shovel the dirt
of life in the short and long,
of contact sports in the field
where so much looks right
but often goes wrong;

where we stand and we fall
on a strong foundation of sex--
whether you want any,
whether you're getting any,
who you want to give you any;

and society relegates
and promotes the majority
depending on your fertile virility,
no question about communicating intimacy;

and, oh, astute reader, I don't make everything
about sex, it is indisputably sex-seeking sex
that makes everything, our genes are fucking
long before we get a go, a cauldron of DNA boiling
up the gloop that is raised high to go low,

(it's all about the hokey-pokey as the nursery rhyme
said: in-out, in-out, that is what it's all about)
dangling from trees like flapping chimpanzees,
we shake on the thinnest of threads, that yet
ties the world to us, and us to the river bed,

and though we may think we metaphor her,
nature metaphors us, feeds the hormones in the head
to ourselves as bread, unthinking habits in speech
forcing us to the brink,

for once the sheet is read,
we are merely nature metaphors,
divided into those who ink
or get inked instead.

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