Well, whatever can a thinking man say?
(A lot, evidently – so pay attention!)
Here in my head it gestated, prostrated,
Percolated – as all ideas ought.
‘Twas a movement of mind based on notions
Stumbled upon in our last episode,
That now to Antinoan Psalms I turn.
And lo, what burgeon’d epic’s best begun
Than that whose final thought be steely forged,
Now Begins a Bold Interrogation?
By Jove, a most defiant poem’s
Flipping a raucous, irreverent finger
At the faceless bringers of thoughtless rule;
Rebelling from drab, authoritarian
Dogmas in pursuit of personal joys.
To the Mandarins it offers no
For indeed, all they can say is “Desist.”
To the doubters, it squirts incontestable
Affirmation of dreams and brave intent.
To the shocked and shell-talking puritans
It shrugs, gorgeously spent and contented.
Forthwith do I introduce Sir Jamie!
With nails for the night’s occasion
Brilliantly in Egyptian blue painted,
He finds me from a posted, online ad.
Anon at my pad, he’s nervous a tad,
Yet soon enough steadied and ready to start.
Eager to learn and inhabit his part,
He snares the gaze of an emperor god,
And grooves for the lens of Richard, Sir Wadd…
|Said the Hierarchs, “Ask
of us nothing,
Drop the eyes, and be never insistent.”
Alack! If sooner I had disobeyed,
Raised a level gaze and insolent grin,
Such fear upon their faces I’d have seen!
How long have I in such a squalor lived?
Antinous answers, “Irrelevant.”
He smiles and slips easily into me.
Now begins a bold interrogation
Of all such fools would have my heart believe
‘Twas best to make from trial e’er
All rise, for indeed the trial is begun.
I am set now to craft a brand new content –
Storytelling as never like this told:
Hotly peopled, thoughtfully hyperlinked
‘Cross parallel timescapes of meaning,
Powered by a quest for gifted pleasures.
Lo, ‘tis a mighty interrogation.
Whence come the gods? From the minds of what men?
Flesh of what youths? Song of what imminent boys?
Where and from what point draw we distinctions?
How and by whom be such things debated?
Is, as we have long been beaten to believe,
The fruitless union of queer-thinking men
Profane, even if danced in a temple
Of honest, joyful and sacred inquiry?
Must the explicit depiction of sex
Be instantly branded for thoughtless smut,
When, by Zeus, there is to its production
A noble and spirited aspiration?
These are but the splash of my
first questions. `
Hardly be others conceived to be asked,
Much less answered mine inaugural few.
Yet ,‘tis enough our inquisition begins,
And satisfies that now, up from our mark,
We boldly such erotic roads embark.