A Different Universe

Once the heavy-as-iron
tasks be done, cheek-by-jowl,
we barricaded ourselves,
the world outside held
no more meaning.
We took our pleasure,
lips on wrists, the inside of
the elbow, the shoulders,
the breasts, hands on belly,
the thighs, between the legs,
mouth closed on nipple,
intent, discovering
a different universe.


Day 20. By now you should have filed your tax return. Now that was a task, mundane, boring, necessary. So thank goodness there’re other things that are more real. I mean, taxes are real but they’re not really real, do not figure in the meaning of our lives. What is the meaning of our lives? They lie in stirring stuff, the stuff that sets your heart on fire, palpitating. First there has got to be a sexual awakening. I don’t know about you but it seems to me that sex is a necessary part of one’s becoming. We’re err.. sexual kittens. I was just reading about a character’s sexual awakening, and this was what was said: “Sex seemed to me all surrender–not the woman’s to the man but the person’s to the body, an act of pure faith, freedom in humility. I would lie washed in these implications, discoveries, like somebody suspended in clear and warm and irresistibly moving water, all night.” (Alice Munro, Lives of Girls and Women). So Robert Brewer wanted a task poem. But you could be a rebel and write a sex poem instead.


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