What a shame. All earth’s brown, earth-smelling sex shorn off. Beaver pelt. Her florid bottom. Moist ravine carved in the earth. Tangled thicket down under the railroad tracks. Smell of brown water, brown tadpoles, brown catfish. I condemn the defoliation of women, clear-cut hillside, despoiled and pillaged wilderness of sex, development, progress, razor burn, fashion police, totalitarian new-age mammals, hairless, bloodless, without milk.
Latin vigere: to be full to bursting. Of young persons, high-fed horses, etc. To be plump, fresh, vigorous, in full health and strength. Weedy, unkempt, reeking of sex. Flowing, stinking, sprouting from every crack. Unlicensed unregulated nose posies. Outlaw seed, a rusted trestle, No Trespassing riddled with bullets. Sally Mann. Gelatin silver print. Wet plate collodion. Old South decrepitude. Death lurks in the timbered foothills, carpeted pleats and valleys, steamy folds of dirt. Earth’s tired seams where life is foaled. Bald elevations naked to the sky. Armpits and snakepits of the world. Dark tufted recesses inaccessible to man but pleasing to the gods.
Tuck yourself into a crotch of the earth, soft beaver pelt of dreams. Let me nestle in your death cushion. Bit by Betty's big brown beaver.
No comments:
Post a Comment