Venus is kindled by anything, but her greatest heat comes from sodomy, as anyone who has tried it knows.
Baron Samedi, Dionysus, Don Juan,
these be the masks that men can slip into.
Every culture has its sex gods that spawn
the myth of great sex. What that means to you
ain’t my concern. Tell me, who do women
in your land have when lust’s fire burns within?
Venus? Rati? Freyja? Fuck that Virgin
and Whore dogma. You gonna say that Sin
be just another name for girl pleasures?
Absurd. A bee won’t stop being a bee
because you ignored it, lied about it,
tried to shame it, stupid. I love lovers
who break the rules, who laugh, who aren’t sorry,
who heard you say no and don’t give a shit.
Most of the time when a writer name drops (especially names 90% of the rest of us haven’t heard of) or uses foreign words or phrases without translating them I end up getting turned off as a reader. Being well read shouldn’t be a license to be conceited. I say that because I use six names that probably most people haven’t heard of before. They are all love gods and goddesses from around the world. At first I tried to leave them out but the whole point of the poem was to show that there are more female erotic archetypes than what we have here in this modern world, which still teaches girls sex is bad, celibacy is good and anyone who actually likes pleasure must be a whore (unless you’re a man … men are never criticized for liking pleasure).
In Voodoo Baron Samedi is loa (spirit) of the dead, sex and resurrection.
In Greek myth Dionysus is the god of wine, ritual madness and homoerotic ecstasy.
Don Juan usually refers to a monster-long poem written by Lord Byron, but he based his story on old Spanish legends of the world’s greatest lover.
Venus is the Roman equivalent of the Greek goddess Aphrodite.
In Hindu mythology Rati the goddess of passion and lust.
Freyja, in Norse legend, is the goddess associated with love, magic, shamanism, sacrifice, war, death and sexuality.
–venus of the sea
Heartbreak housed in the side, my Butch Venus
break, a chrysalis of horn and fog —Ball
of sea, of water, leaden —Buxomness
with the rod of Lilith. Den of shape —all
her whelps shot through the fin, wrenched by fishers
men, their bud and plague. The long voice. Water-
handed grave and rancid; drowners —rivers
of blood. Country of sea, boxed. My lover
rises. Fathoms. Cold cross the bar —Inhale
her dead seeds, jelly-fish egg, the green grave
and the dew of acid —My lover’s breath
drove her on —up —out —gasp now —now exhale.
Breath you’ve come. In waves you’ve come. Waves, death, wave.
Crave the grave’s breath —de la mer —in for death.