read Olga Broumas
her Caritas

she's dilated me
so provincial in my purpose�
now rush, my desire

(open wet cunt
- her choice, 'cunt'
as worthy as her 'cathedral' -)

what i know now
is not the moon mythology archetype
sloppy quivering surrender

*

my new desire is to penetrate
love straightforward
and through my eyes and with my hands
wander into wet worship
see by the dark blaze
finger icons sniff incense
follow motion with motion
through to calm commotion

for once god and i
will find comfort
in each other

*

this is a letter
not a poem
a manic shout
this plea

to myself

i am 48 and sad
have never
been awed
by the sights inside
never knelt forgetful of self
probed with adoration

indigent sensualist, i�
invoke cunt, beg alms for passage�
from this meandering desire-home�
toward worship of her,�
final places at once lofty and mundane,�
and wet and pink and open�

*

i do not know worship
desire and awe, always incomplete
please, teach me worship


this is a prayer
a benediction upon
the revealing�

not a letter
not a poem