2 poems

72.

as a young man I was in love with one of my female teachers, a mysteriously beautiful bio-chemist. all I did outside (and in) school was dream of fondling her.  I also smoked a lot, to both distract and concentrate (Kents, with the micronite filter). thus back and forth I went, quite happily. love levels all of us to aristocrats that we may enjoy, guilt-free, a range of hormonal impetuosities, and memorably near-fatal quicksands of obsession. the secret of life is to be a world unto oneself in which things like war and money and bio-chemistry become irrevelant to your waiting for the great moment which is always coming and therefore cannot arrive. this I humbly sat and learned, in awe of beauty now decrepid, blank in name.

Paradoxication

we tallied up the countess’ countless indescretions (was he out of town again?), but not her calumnies or cartwheels less is more but more is not less these random aromas were by design meant to vanquish ah! lisps and stutters behind open shutters come nun come awl there will be foreplay afterwards