Dreams do not contract
Bunjil, in the form of three eagles, flew overhead for
ages today
& the drum & voice
Of Mauritian Sega Typik music
& my housemate mending her bag & boots,
Overtook
Yet not supplanted
Yesterday’s daydream
In fact the two came together & more things
unexplored & unthought
Yesterday, thinking of my recently met muse
I have many muses
This one erotic
& I thought of the story of Prometheus, who to the
displeasure of Zeus
Gave humanity fire
& later created people from clay
& so it runs like a flock of birds splitting,
Pygmalion
According to the ancient Roman poet Ovid
Dissatisfied with women
Created an ideal statue
& fell in love with her
Embarrassed, nevertheless, he prayed
& Aphrodite took pity on him
& gave her animation
We learn that you cannot invent love, otherwise it’s a
sex doll
& love requires a requisite other, who comes with a
direction & a history & a volition & body-mind-soul-subjectivity
& the two of you discover love together
You share & give rise to it, though it is equally
beyond your control or will
Because intimacy cannot be self created
Nevertheless, my housemate pointed out
One can only jam music with others
If one has some technique
As well as good responsiveness & listening
& so enquiry/reason/truth, technology & wisdom
are required
& I love/lust for my muse for her disdainful
distance from me
Which is neither wise, true nor technical
But delicious for a poet
To write like Baudelaire
Whose muses made him an erotic/emotional slave
I thank her too for breaking the spell of my ex-wife &
her afterimage in my heart & mind
Nevertheless, there are other dreams of succubae
& a dark grey, white & bright blue sky
& that which goes beyond dream
Into feeling transcendental &/or brain chemical
& so this poem is merely a poem
& I feel intoxicated by an existence
I cannot contract to a “thus.”
Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.
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