We are all sexual beings, every
Drop of sweat suffocates
On dry, wrinkled arms, beads
In muscular flab and cellulite
Of soaking sloth for desire of
A breast, a particularly choice
Leg, a hanging pod, anal beads,
Peas and pee, the seeds of things
Are always -- but even the seeds --
Are bubbling, boiling over
Fires, rich cookings of metal, the wind
Cradles the trees, sky
Pressing full, unclouded lips, eyes
Watching, burning with tremendous pull
To be together. Time yearns
For its fulfillment, life, death,
And the vast in between spaces
Groan. Yes: all the world is like some gargantuan throttling snake,
Throttled, twitching, hissing like a cauldron, teapot for the rot
Of growth. Spring, benevolent herbs, intersect, arduous
Chemicals, craze, leaves with the green
Soak of the sun: life is on the run.