Letter Twenty-Four – This Divine Form

 

This – the Creator’s most perfect creation

is delicate and gentle – strong and painworthy

the Mother of all things    the bringer of life      the gate of gates    the

female

form.

 

A nirvana of curves   gate of pleasures immense &

divine   eternity to touch  -  a scent to launch a thousand ships  - a

nimbus golden almost noticeable emanating  -  a form quickening

exhales & radiates.

From the boy unprepared for

it & its bounty   he must be tempered

from

head to toe

to prepare himself for this wonder    or linger at the

foot of a fiery hell of his own unintended making   until he grows.

 

It is the principle of gravity

attracts like no other body from heaven     attracts

w/ force of so many iron filings throbbing toward the magnet

fierce & ultimately

undeniable   we can be strong or tempered     or lost in her fatal

attraction dwarfed by the hugeness of her eternal scorn.

 

I

am the man in space tumbling

drawn by her chemical scent   weak    pulled

by fulfillment of desire momentary

its a

breath taken by a simple glance  - a light  moth-like

as

if

I had no will to fly - that consumes.

Were it to extinguish   I would be

no

more.   If I were to remain    more cold & alone

than the old hermit

a fate worse than tortured death.

Helpless am I and have been toward her pull   a

vapor to be breathed in and effortless blown away.

 

All the days consumed by pursuit of her charms – time

falls

aside – merges w/o mercy –

but the morning comes

myself alone w/ her – guardian at her gates

and I revel in my heap satisfied

it has tempered   -  soothed every wound  -  human lost in the gift of this divine form.

 

9:23AM - 8.24.03

Starter phrases taken from  I Sing The Body Electric - Walt Whitman