I May Be Getting Over My Fear of Sex

Sorry for the Mikean title, but this piece is not my usual style.


It's been a dead week in the land of inspiration, so here is something completely different because it is 1)non-fiction, 2)non-poetry and 3)stream-of-consciousness. I'll pull my pants up for next week, I swear.

Context: Poetry is sex. Run with the idea.

Because what else is poetry than sex? Poetry is sex like sex is living, like sex brings us to throw ourselves whole(hole)heartedly into someone, something else because of a burning or a thought or a whimsy(let us not forget here that the first rhymes written by men were probably to impress women)--it's a compulsion as uncontrollable as the reproduction of our kind, of bringing an undivided part of ourselves onto a blank slate upon which the gods of biology and genetics and poetics may write, it's the action and the aftermath and the spasm all in one; poetry forces us out by bringning us in to create something we vaguely recognize through something we often rarely acknowledge. Sex is poetry because our bodies are language--our bodies are blank and open and never defined until they are together.