a poem for today, 15 May 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of five sentences and its image]
He tells me that even old flesh is erotic flesh and that disease is the love of two alien kinds of creatures for each other, that even dying is an act of eroticism, that talking is sexual, that breathing is sexual, that even to physically exist is sexual.
That is to say, it’s not that everything is just an illusion, but there is nothing outside.
Liberation rests on the construction of consciousness, the imaginative apprehension of oppression, and so, of possibility.
This is a school night.
Often the risk of attachment taken in its throes manifests an intelligence beyond rational calculation.
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