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The Physique of Intimate Poetry
I decided to read poetry
written only by
imagined beautiful people.
In my psyche
their words
structured into poised stanzas
become refined paragraphs
that perch elegantly
on slender ankles
supporting the upper half
of their bovine torso.
This pastoral vision
of grass
metamorphosing
into milk suckled from a teat
is so convincingly surreal
that it is not
may not be a tit.
Reality is that
a refined ankle to one
is the size of a thigh to another
a simile to an inverted pear
one must eat
starting with the arse.
Botero
and his crushingly mammothian
figurative representations
weigh heavily on my mind.
I also like them plump
and towering
close to my eyes
enabling me to kiss such
by only slightly
turning my head sideways.
Needless to say
this is one time I am bullish
on a mad cow.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Nov©2008
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