Tuesday, 21 October 2014

At My Desk

By Rory A.A. Hinton

At My Desk

"It is not the position, but the disposition." (Susan Sontag) 

... at my desk, that day
time waited for me.
Almost gave up

looking ignitively
explosive blond shell.
Hell's polis beneath us

united by a natural force
fully and completely.
Filled to overflowing

fountain head
strong power suits.
Ad hominem love

her capitalist pays
attention aroused.
Atrocious fire place

mark your flame:
I am fond of you. 
Keeping abreast

exposed willingly
abled and enabled.
Come hither look

maybe two touch
but not too much.
Gown falls down

words made flesh
moves mindfully.
I love you

Gucci Girl heels
dig deep forever.
You bravely spoke

hesitantly honest
truth long concealed.
Unhappily married

spouse bites off more
than he could chew.
Brought nearer to you

evoke me selfishly
virtuous affirmation.
Thanking Galt's God

damn your white hot
orchid gushes open.
Sex without love

lost yet found
vowing fidelity.
St. Valentine's Day

massacred by the alien
light slowly going dim.
Three days silent

suffering breathlessly
breathing mechanically.
The pain of not knowing

my calls won't be answered
prayers proved decisive.
Never letting you go

home made traditions
decorate holiday trees.
Black-eyed peas please

my one thousand year old heart
beating one thousand miles away.
Devotion from a physical distance

collapsing summer solstice
falling into this cruel winter.
My disposition still still ...

Ayn Rand. The Fountainhead. Signet. 1952.
Susan Sontag. Against Interpretation And Other Essays. Picador. 2001.