In Allegory Faring Forth
Woman, at your work in the library
taking a momentary break to talk
above the sliding sickly green light
of a methodically dumb copier
with a soft rounded angularity
to your body & face
like a sculpture in linen by Modigliani
one handle of an arm held
triangular from hip to shoulder
How many books have you let into you-
running your sensuous hands across covers
rough or slick, tattered
knowing them more intimately than other, temporary lovers
their authoritative words becoming tender
through your ministrations.
How like a Temple Harlot
you prey upon the mind
of a priest.
If a Priest were a man, or better yet
a book
something definable only as itself
& cursed with no tenuous Poetic Obligations
then it might be possessed & known by you
in the ritual elation of your caresses
Temptress, a mere cataloguer
& enjoyer of experiences
How fine I feel your senses
& body
inhabited by all this
literary accumulation
How the Priest, virile but misspent
bends his mind upon the Harlot
who receives each of the dumb lot
he converts in a way he cannot,
hot his mind when it considers
how fully she knows the members
of his flock, & letting all enter
& know her who were molded to his thought.
The preceding poem was written by IG Agent 18 and is part of the forthcoming book Mercuric Distillations.