Ian Irvine: Insecure Sex
Insecure Sex:
©1998 Ian Irvine
A somersault: tongues hands, animated flesh, Insecurity.
oh, my slipping mind ... no time to complain ..... more sensitive now, I’m exhausted. swinging on that sweet anticipation ... sex on something drugs ... maybe IN ... (it must be) ... LOVE ... IN ... (more likely) SECURE.
Because ... sometimes it’s so difficult to be tender and slow in a Cyclone World ... stressed ... defensive ... coiled up, ready for action thinking ... planning ... green light ... red light ... rules ... bills ... regulations income ... dole form ... meetings ... engagements ... this to be done ... that to be done ... do ... done ... do .... did you? ... I must ... we have to ... do ... tomorrow ... done ... was that tomorrow? ... provide for ... plan for ... satisfy ... dress for ... present well ... responsible ... don’t disappoint ... don’t fall behind behind your friends ... your family ... your own expectations ...
A Cyclone World. And so when the touching of souls grows more infrequent and the heartbeat labours steady as she goes in the face of constant noise, satiety and silent grief decades old and change and change and change well one day, it’ll be over, we’ll both move on ... ’Just a stage I was going through.’ ’It was good while it lasted.’ ’We parted the best of friends.’ ’We fought at the end.’ ’I needed some room to grow.’ ’I felt imprisoned.’ ’I needed space.’ ’We were just ... bored with each other ... I guess ...’
Insecure Sex.
Too Many Times:
©1998 Ian Irvine
Hey man, you became her burden ... how do we avoid being somebody’s burden? Next time it could be me I could be ... Shattered like glass one last time saw it coming shattered one last time.
Muse sez ’Grow ... etc. etc ... etc...’ but, we’re all in fragments now forget about Rimbaud and bourgeois neurosis poets aiming well placed Word-SHOCKS to overly secure minds, Poets using bells and gongs and sweaty throngs of blue eyed lusty lesbians - in those days it was a deliberate activity a process, with a beginning and an end to deconstruct an early sleeping mind. there was always solid ground to return to Not so now. We dissolve like butter near a flame, like metal in an acid vat.
I’m a plant, been moved too many times ... too many rooms, houses, beds, women ... towns ... cities ... friends ... roads ... jobs ... too many times.
Sure I weep and regress but this is harder than the last time, I’m not sure ... if I have ... the get up and ... go ... might just collapse you know dissolve ... go down ... call it quits ... take the race car to the pits,
How to avoid being somebody’s burden.