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Sex, the Animal


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Sex, the Animal

Bi Janus

Sex, the animal,

is but a small part

of us, he says.

Which way we

are pulled

is no great matter,

the soul weighing

what it does,

he says.

I wonder aloud at him.

You’re a fucking liar,

afraid to admit

how much your prick

weighs against

your soul.

Or, you’re not pulled

so much as stuck.

Sex, the animal,

says he, is

an appurtenance,

a dim signal

of magisterial


Let’s pull it out

as we might

a vermiform vestige.

You twit, I moan.

Sanctimony draping

pure electric body

won't give you

respite from looking

over your shoulder

to find the wolf

in your eye's corner

and your fields all

overgrown with lavender.

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Super poem! I've been thinking about it, on and off, since you posted it.

I had an immediate response which I put aside on the basis that I ought to be able to crit in a more sensible way. But I can't - other than 'super poem' - so:

Nutshellery. a comment (post dictionary perusal) on 'Sex, the Animal'

To a vicar: a vermiform vestige

To a lothario: appurtenance divine

To most others: their bestest friend,

who hangs cute and coyly sublime.

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  • 3 weeks later...

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