Colic Heliconian
culture, genius Uranus,
who rapes sheep & drinks
virgin piss, o hymen of Hymen,
    o Hymen's hymen;

such tempers flare
love relents,
let us cap it flamboyantly, mile
high towers, new gestures
    under Socrates' moon;

exquisite hilarity of death,
coincidental opening of
the wedded vulva,
smell of human penises, shit
    on sheep's feet.

name me a man whose colon dilates,
as Venus's did
at the sight of Phrygius
crying, how good to feel
    you come inside me,

flushed with the smell of
myrtle trees on Asia's rim
where Hadrian could've died
ludicrous as it seems
    for lack of love.

what age, however fierce,
purged of Thespia's colloquialisms
now that he lies ruptured in the Aonian caves,
could tolerate the nymphomaniacs
    frigged Aganippe to death.

how dominated by dullness we are.
knowing nothing of love,
renouncing what meaning remains,
we lose our heads amid the implications
    of errors stacking up like logs.

there is no single item, no intact
virgin, that on discovery
doesn't die. agitation is the modern
deceit, o hymen of Hymen,
    o Hymen's hymen.