These two, the male and the female, unable to
manifest androgyny, sing to the other as evidence. Each stanza hormones
themselves with self-circumcising tongues. Sex is their touch-tone song. It
gives or gets. There is no release. Nerves are to the edge, un-openable by the
culture they keep. These two, the male and the female, penetrate intimacy request by a conquest of lucidly
climbing through each other, risking the shelter of livid controlling styles
without reprieve. They are on the mend as living Judas, amicable in most other
everyday ways. They are each indicted by their appetite to brutalize their
innocence, yet displaying allegiance to a moral enterprise. Each feigning
emancipation with demons from under cover, yet soliciting images of model
behavior. They are exiled within an army of pretends. These two ,the male and
the female share private stirs with each other as accomplices and call it sex. They
shrill the music of their spirits to release the injustice of being separate beings.
There are splinters of bliss melting their separation yet producing stone. These
two, the male and the female, make love kiss up to fear. They make out with the
hypocrisy of it all. They are smug in their blanket of needs. They are virgins
from a landlock beyond choice. The two stand, as with a stick or a hole falling
towards the other to share in their paradoxical dreams. They take time from
these riddles to comfort the other. These two, the male and the
female, are inadmissible movies for the other. They are challenged by their
sexual frames. Their mortal-ness enters as a concept with clout. These two, the
male and the female are surrounded by unquestionables. They play all the roles
and withhold none of the presence of their shared lucid pearl. They speak a
sexual fire, step into the inferno of their own grace, and ride the updrafts of
their meld as one spirit, on the rise, full circling, into an androgyny
sky-entry . . .
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