I Was Boy Crazy

I was boy crazy for forty years
All I wanted was the flayed whale
Its huge red flesh
And the senseless drumbeat
Which would beget no kid.

Then one morning I woke up
And both the thorn and the rose
Had lost meaning.
One morning I woke up
To find I’d been stitched back
To virginity again.

That which had flowed a full fast stream
Was now a desert mine
Alkaline and empty.
And all I cared about was words,
And making order in things,
And new places,
And fidgeting around to bring forth
Colored flowers.

I do not know which passion is the best,
For I can’t remember the old one.
I am like a little boy
Not yet interested in girls
Who looks out from a high rock ridge
Hoping to explore the world.

May ’09, Fiercegrass Hall