Month: June 2011

Your time is short

Your time is short,
The hour’s near, the cold’s your wonder,
Little dear.
You buck and rattle,
Shake your tail.
The blood’s a boiling,
Dripping brew.
The tendons taut
And flesh so young
That frenzy drives me on
To you.
Smell the feast between
Your thighs,
Your belly split
From side to side.
I carry forward,
Slobber down,
Matted fur and eyes a fury.
Your weakness is arousing—
Hurry!
Near a crest your form
Is clear.
Leave the trail, I’ll see you through.

Your time is short

Your time is short,
The hour’s near, the cold’s your wonder,
Little dear.
You buck and rattle,
Shake your tail.
The blood’s a boiling,
Dripping brew.
The tendons taut
And flesh so young
That frenzy drives me on
To you.
Smell the feast between
Your thighs,
Your belly split
From side to side.
I carry forward,
Slobber down,
Matted fur and eyes a fury.
Your weakness is arousing—
Hurry!
Near a crest your form
Is clear.
Leave the trail, I’ll see you through.

Red-Blooded

Testosterone seeping, volatile, from the provider of seed. Capable of higher thinking but regulated by present urgencies. He builds a nest and gathers a store, thinking ahead to the terrible winter. In action he demonstrates for those who pay attention but works on and builds what must be built. There is no subjugation, nor tiring effort to bend the will of others. He simply prepares for inevitability: the mate, the seasons, and the safety of a den. In action he is more than a machine, more than sounds. Success is a calculated effort by the able body and mind. It is in his nature to succeed until death.

He ventures out into the sun in search of a single scent. The calls of others echo in the wind. They will learn for themselves, or perish.

Red-Blooded

Testosterone seeping, volatile, from the provider of seed. Capable of higher thinking but regulated by present urgencies. He builds a nest and gathers a store, thinking ahead to the terrible winter. In action he demonstrates for those who pay attention but works on and builds what must be built. There is no subjugation, nor tiring effort to bend the will of others. He simply prepares for inevitability: the mate, the seasons, and the safety of a den. In action he is more than a machine, more than sounds. Success is a calculated effort by the able body and mind. It is in his nature to succeed until death.

He ventures out into the sun in search of a single scent. The calls of others echo in the wind. They will learn for themselves, or perish.

speaking to father

I spoke to my father during a pause in some work on Sunday. It had apparently been a few months since we last spoke. He expressed the concern that something might have happened to me and they didn’t know. It was not emotional at all. Simple explanation, proposed simple solution: they would appreciate if I called more often. It seemed reasonable enough and I said I would. We talked about other things, like his complaints about my brothers’ laziness or my mother’s angry silence toward him, and we even compared exercise regimens.

What I appreciate about our conversations these days is that they are respectful. We speak as men—as adults. He tells of his experiences with drugs, alcoholism, and violence not to warn me but to relay information about who he is. He is apologetic about his treatment of his three eldest and my mother. He acknowledges that people are who they are and they cannot be expected to change their ways unless it is their choice to change for themselves. He’s learned these things over the decades, and started when he and my mother had their first child. I believe it is easy to say these sorts of things to oneself but far more difficult to remember them. Age undoubtedly forces a man to reflect or deny.

speaking to father

I spoke to my father during a pause in some work on Sunday. It had apparently been a few months since we last spoke. He expressed the concern that something might have happened to me and they didn’t know. It was not emotional at all. Simple explanation, proposed simple solution: they would appreciate if I called more often. It seemed reasonable enough and I said I would. We talked about other things, like his complaints about my brothers’ laziness or my mother’s angry silence toward him, and we even compared exercise regimens.

What I appreciate about our conversations these days is that they are respectful. We speak as men—as adults. He tells of his experiences with drugs, alcoholism, and violence not to warn me but to relay information about who he is. He is apologetic about his treatment of his three eldest and my mother. He acknowledges that people are who they are and they cannot be expected to change their ways unless it is their choice to change for themselves. He’s learned these things over the decades, and started when he and my mother had their first child. I believe it is easy to say these sorts of things to oneself but far more difficult to remember them. Age undoubtedly forces a man to reflect or deny.