The Form of Life Needs Sex

I will have to accept women

if I want to continue the race,

kiss breasts, accept

strange hairy lips behind


look in questioning womanly eyes

Answer soft cheeks,

bury my loins in the hang of pearplum

Fat tissue

I had abhorred

before I give godspasm Babe leap

forward thru death—

Between me and oblivion an unknown

woman stands;

Not the Muse but living meat-phantom,

a mystery scary as my fanged god

sinking its foot in its gullet &

vomiting its own image out of its ass

— This woman Futurity I am pledge to

born not to die,

but issue my own cockbrain replica Me-Hood

again—For fear of the Blot?

Face of Death, my Female, as I’m sainted

to my very bone,

I’m fated to find me a maiden for

ignorant Fuckery—

flapping my belly & smeared with Saliva

shamed face flesh & wet,

— have long droopy conversations

in Cosmical Duty boudoirs,

maybe bored?

Or excited New Proespect, discuss

her, Futurity, my Wife

My Mother, Death, My only

hope, my very Resurrection


herself, why have I feared

to be joined true

embraced beneath the Panties of Forever

in with the one hole that repelled me 1937 on?

— Pulled down my pants on the porch showing

my behind to cars passing in rain—

& She be interested, this contact with Silly new Male

that’s sucked my loveman’s cock

in Adoration & sheer beggary romance-awe

gulp-choke Hope of Life come

and buggered myself innumerably boy-yangs

gloamed inward so my solar plexus

feel godhead in me like an open door—


Now that’s changed my decades body old

tho’ admiring male thighs at my brow,

hard love pulsing thru my ears,

stern buttocks upraised

for my masterful Rape

that were meant for a private shit

if the Army were All—

But no more answer to life

than the muscular statue

I felt up its marbles

envying Beauty’s immortality in the

museum of Yore—

You can fuck a statue but you can’t

have children

You can joy man to man but the sperm

comes back in a trickle at dawn

in a toilet on the 45th floor—

& Can’t make continuous mystery out of that

finished performance

& ghastly thrill

that ends as began,

stupid reptile squeak

denied life by Fairy Creator

become Imaginary

because he decided not to incarnate

opposite—Old Spook

who didn’t want to be a baby & die,

didn’t want to shit and scream

exposed to bombardment on a

Chinese RR track

and grow up to pass his spasm on

the other half of the Universe—

Like a homosexual capitalist afraid of the masses—

and that’s my situation, Folks—