September 2006

Surrender 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.