with mustaches of the walrus,
you are archetypal,
a refined brain in aging boxer body,
stout to your undiscovered core.
Flocked around you –
North, East, South, and West –
your assembled pupils are
young men of unmolested
potential and yearning,
primed for your educational
group them tight, professor,
for a monumental archiving
in photographic large format
around their unattainable subject,
a defiant, naked and exposed
the corsets and buttons
of society will burst widely,
as the unseen camera’s shutter
opens to the unyielding light of She,
impregnating its photoconductive plate.
Her model airs and curves
will shock and titillate all sideways,
but your young men of horsehair will elate.
These uniformly diverse,
artistic men of letters and brushes,
circumsolar to her triangular rawness,
cluster humbly and yet
front their own projected
qualities and quirks,
one with a singular creepiness
that vibrates with things to come—
moving pictures of very young men
fiery-eyed and over sensitive
observing raw, unbalanced human life
not their own; catching it from a distance
with critical commentary and
violently forlorn acts of desperation.
Professor, come clean;
who are these assorted young
measures of man? Geniuses?
Each head held
with each man’s
strife and focus,
captured in a moment
least expected, but
Examine the male model for one;
he shows nothing more than
an impressive, naked forearm
and strong manly jaw,
the kind a haymaker can’t harm.
is he one of your
returned to serve
at your behest? Hoping
to win the fine nude
female prize; taking her away
from his absent father?!
His stalwart, desire-emoting eyes say,
I could whup ass all over these art
pansies; brake their bony brushes
and take their geeky girlfriends,
if they had any damned girlfriends,
but I want only She, most revealed,
the model woman for my lust and love.
Professor, that boy there;
the unintended focal point,
with his ginger hair and smile,
right in the thick of it all.
How’d he get such an awkward
position? He holds the fast future
of our human race on either shoulder,
a god and goddess of sex. The future!
Only, he has the sweet limitations of
unrestrained cuteness and hopeful sincerity –
harsh black holes to swallow his own fast future.
Sadness is his coming spaceship; its cosmic
inevitability has all ready marked his narrow chin.