a poem in the Donnean vein
Of now, I am – and yet am a nonentity;
Lost manhood as if ‘t were virginitie.
Milk for thine coffee I did give thee,
Yet, not the milk it was of my own spray.
My erstwhile detectíve – always a nose,
Corpus delicti and its delicate smells –
Finding solution for his lust in tasty wells,
Now lost his sixth sense and is jobless,
Is no more – whether fiancée or whore,
She does not make perform
His blissful function anymore.
Spare this male thine malediction;
With such a defect so afflicted,
Can I my tales still tell thee;
Will words do fail me, all be silent,
The silly instrument sillier than silly?
To lose one’s touch and find the noose no more,
That acid, fleshy rope which fitted
All so well its little neck – garrot its stem,
To have a spree down there – in thine depths.
So profound you are – perhaps too deep
To anchor me – this dotard’s prick –
Beneath the musk, moist level of thine sea.
Should not my Anima make an animal of me,
Wild, virile, strong enough to enter thee –
In lustful embrace, in carnal extravaganza?
Or is Anima too much like Animus,
Demanding of that index of all indices –
To go and fuck myself…
Gallop into thine love, I did – on horseback,
An animal so fierce and o so willing.
Yet now, I flee thee on an ass.
Thou didst dare to deceive a husband;
‘T was me deceiving you… Alas.
Ai, will you the condemned man his pleasure do,
And let his eye roam your damp pastures;
Permit that other silly instrument, my tongue,
To first taste, then enter cunt and arse?
Or are you harsh enough to execute my failure?
Needing a younger lover instead,
Not the fool, whose prick is merely in his head?
So true, so true – “Loves mysteries in soules doe grow.”
Yet all too well the poet knows: “The body is his booke.”
BEKIJK OOK MIJN NEDERLANDSE DAGBLOG –sierksma.wordpress.com
Sierksma 3.6.2014 La Roche