Supporting
Sax
(a Soft Core
Poem)
To grow up
in a world that denied the need for sex
And then
suddenly unveil its Himalayan haunts as
Though it
were never anything ever so important, is
Enough to
drive a person crazy, a torture too cruel.
To see her,
a surrender babe dressed to the nines
With all her
advertising running full tilt, entertainment
Without
neon, is to recognize a righteous gait, a slink
That is out
of sync with her teenage-delinquent outfit.
Walking into
rock n’ roll palaces of babes and blues
For the
first time, hips so oiled by its rhythm as to
Make me
flush from head to toe, my need so great
I could only
dismiss the possibility of hope in this life.
Side to
side, step, sway and sachet down she goes
In her own
world of working theories, designed to
Make someone
happy, someone rich, but not her;
I stand
nearly beside her with my supporting sax.
The music of
her surrender comes out brutally and
Dispassionately because to do otherwise might be
Art or cause
for thought, something controversial to
Make people
think instead of relaxing over drinks.
She
undulates with a hunch, an inkling of surrender
The
blueprint still wet with ammonia stink, the choke
Of history
unrolled like a scroll of failed strategies.
I stand
nearly beside her with my on-stage surrender.
I allow
myself a view too rich with amazement and
Revelation
to decipher the meaning of a goddess
Torso
displaying the private entrance of all creation,
Let alone
the ins and outs by invitation only. Touch?
Too exotic
to ponder without a proper education.
There was no
such snare drum in any of my
School
rooms, no sister in the other bedroom to clue
Me in on the
latest moves, no savvy girl next door.
I stand
nearly beside her with all our secrets dangling
Onstage with
a billion years of evolution hanging out,
Supplying
sax and surrender to a generation of sax
Starved
maniacs released from torture cells like mine.
My solo
moment comes and goes surrendering only
That which
is Caesar’s and my soul suspending the
Judgment I
will need much later to give meaning to
This public
ode to procreation and the sex machine.
Surrender
sax and his misused muse, the god in his
Office
looking down, and the bouncer’s enforcing
Gaze, all
dance the fantasy dance of hidden arts, a
Private
universe turned inside out for beer and gin.
