Monday, July 5, 2010


They were speaking

Of my cousin,

The hound dog,

In a rough and disrespectful tone.

Though he licks his balls

And drinks from the toilet,

I am not ashamed to say

That we are only

A few digits removed

Along the old evolutionary

Integer line.

It is the tiny

Drop of sex,

Of sweat,

Of pathos,

Of anima

In the vast

Ocean of ecology that

Reveals our association,

That scrambles and shreds

Our common carnal circuitry,

That makes us howl

All night with the deep ache of wanting,

That makes us uncontrollably hump

Your innocent and unsuspecting leg.

Please, forgive us, but

We are very often slaves

to the sharp narcotic

Of your iridescent transmissions.

For the flowering fruit

Of your species

Radiates and releases

A near-insidious whisper



more combustible, even,

Than the mythical

Spoonful of heart’s blood

From our great, great grandfather

The neutron star.

-Jason Ryberg, 2001

1 comment:

  1. One of my favorites, and one of your best!