of Maxwell Clark
“[...] crowd-pressure and contagion [...]”
—William James, ‘The Energies of Men’
Smoothing myself into an ambiance, for
You, each of you (as one); who chop me into idiot-
Concepts, while reading this; I pardon
Your already inexorable violations, of myself, insofar
As I “become” you, as myself do (have) entered your proper maw.
Murder regenerates life (the habit
Of identity), peace is never so free, as
The individuating sameness of organicity, it
Would grow imperially unlimited without
Its attendant sociability, as such hospitality
Holds us hostage of its exteriority,
O, prettiness, stay.
Stay with me,
If only just today.
Forgo nothing, be full, with me,
And we will ever be more and more ever flowery.
Reason is felt as feelings sincere,
Mastery obeys the disobedient, although
Blame me, pretty lover,
If I sing of you,
Blame me and no other
If I sing thus so true.
Once, and so forever,
I love you, so dearly
I do, I do so forever,
Forever so dearly us two.
Others are there, over yonder,
And I cannot but ignore them
While you blossom under my kisses.
Too much of our love is,
If unavoidable, also unjust.
If I am closest to your nudity now,
When outside our bed I hear friends
I am also to obey them, however
Otherwise than erotic our ken.