THE HERB GARDEN

Ah! there's possibility none
for what's written is done
now amongst this naked garden
is the possibility of a secret hard-on
and everyone remembers their first time
clothless ambition smelling of thyme
they start it in want of world wisdom and chic
and end it tired, world weary and cheap
deep is the hunger for sweet carnal knowledge
the herb garden in darkness is the young lover's college
it's the circle the ring a bent rod within
a parasite with written host
like a lawyer standing for a poet's ghost
I have to ask one what can one do?
if all sage scented dreams came finally true
poetry would be without it's dimensions
like a celebrity without her pretensions
and in the garden of naked night prose
the thrusting buttocks construct the sweet moans
the favoured welcome for all beginners
begins with the tale of two well fed sinners
they who know what keeps them afloat
(not learning to swim but buying a boat)
above the water is where you are real
below is the place you suddenly feel
inside the flames though absent of burns
the oceans the 'C' the real poet yearns
when the peanuts start piling
the boat slowly sinks
reality's riches are thoughts the naked poet thinks
everybody owns heavenly sensation
it's the aroma of life's happy fascination
some forget the memory of a sweet youthful man
so grab at the herbs and steal what they can
to catch a vaguely familiar scent
to write the words of their own lament
the rest remember how it felt the first time
to thrust their youth inside the curved line
it is the one real thing that remains to be theirs
pornography arises from this experience shared
slowly, slowly the clouds amass
a round white rump in one's firm grasp
you take away the words the metaphors and prose
you take away the fantasy of one wearing clothes
are all feelings of nostalgia a genetic clause?
a chance for the lovers to remember their cause
I've fallen in love with this garden's protection
moonlight outlining the straight stemmed erection
I asked the sky lark about highlands and wild thyme
he told me they could and would never be mine
Hence here I lay amongst the miracle
of what is both within the head and physical
nothing to blind "the mind, head and foot"
or topics and points all marked as moot
I've got the scents, the sence and sensations
of he who understood "the green carnation"
amongst the flowers and stems growing and growing
it's true you know, there is knowing and knowing
and thankfully Von Gloeden taught me ne'er to care
about bleached teeth and tinted white hair