Simple as Momma’s Tit
it might be as simple as
momma's tit
if we let it be
or as complex
as the frenchman's wax
and the german's manifolds
their halls of mirrors
if we want to convolute things
that much
which we do
which makes sense
giving ourselves more room for play
rooms for fun and games
and getting lost
in the funhouse
of the metaphysics
of denial
of what we know
exchanging the metaphysics
of deities
for the physics
of what we know to be true
for us to get by
it might be as simple
as momma's tit
warm and soft
blissfully undemanding
faultless and nourishing
perfect in providing exactly what we
need
at no more expense than our wailing
until she weens us off
losing grasp
of her unconditional nourishment
protection
and lullabies
all that we needed
the loss
at first
shocking and hurtful
undermining
the truth
or better yet
the untruth
about absolutes
weened off sweet benevolence
the teeth sprout
showing that comfort and necessity no longer
come from our tearful demands
alone
that the world has demands of us too
maybe we'll cry even louder
and longer
maybe we'll blame our fear
of this new demanding world
on momma
or blame this new world for making momma bad
or both
for making things more difficult
and frightening
than they once were
we'll sulk and fit
or accept the challenge to transform
as teeth sprout
from infant into child
as the weening tit wanes
breast milk replaced with things
both natural and artificial
things both organic and processed
things both liquid and solid
the world unfolds with fresh promises
promises fulfilled easily
by merely whining and wailing
we might expect
not that much different
from momma's tit
precious and perfect and pure
that was so hard
to lose
hard
cause losing momma's tit
means we gotta do more
for the things we want
do more than just wail
and fit
we decide
to stop wailing
and transform
or continue wailing into madness
naively
spiteful of momma
her tit
the nursery
in our fits
figuring somewhere we'll be delivered another
another crib
another nursery
another momma
another tit
to give us what we want
and deserve
as free and easy as momma did
before she turned bad
and stopped singing lullabies
so we find the prettiest girl on the block
and want her to give
most of what momma gave
mostly free and easy
to sooth us
just like momma did
so long ago
it's a huge void she's filling
and we won't get many picks
so it better be good
better than good
as close to perfect
as possible
in appearance
style of dress and thought
and all the rest
these
we decide
or feel in our bones
are what our lover needs to be
to satiate the infant
that still cries within
but we learn
sometimes
we need to be what our lover needs us to be
we learn or are denied
concerned no more for her
than we were for momma
in our wailing
concerned not for her but our own needs
but a lover's denial is okay
since our love for her
just like our growing discontent
for the world that denies us her
and more and more of what we want
that love is infantile
like infant to mother
we love her
in terms of what we think
she offers
rather than what she is
we obsess
too inexperienced
having never left home
unaware of other neighborhoods
with other beautiful girls
too inexperienced to realize
that instead of perfection
the prettiest girl on the block
can only offer
what all the prettiest girls
on all the other blocks
are offering too
we want beauty
with minimal blemish
and unconditional understanding
instead of imperfect
like the imperfect world
of breast milk acquired
by learning and doing
instead of just crying
so we look for reasons to reject her
too fat or ugly or dumb
or close enough to perfect
but she doesn't come easy enough
so we reject her
for many of the reasons we reject the world
that doesn't give her up
free and easy
and all the reasons for rejecting her
and the world
obfuscate what she really offers
subtle offerings
hard to see behind the
mere reflections of her
that are no more than the reflections
of us
what we want to be
what we want to deserve
as the precious little babies of the world
wailing baby wants
eternal beauty
instead of beauty that will fade
and the mutual understanding
between you and her
that it's okay
the compliment
and comfort
of two
growing older and uglier
and hopefully wiser
together
or the bounty of misunderstanding
battles between you and her
your expectations and disappointments
exercises in compromise
and lowered expectations
accepting that neither she nor the world
exist merely
to gratify our basest desires
and whittling away at the notions of perfection
and absolutes
exposing desires and necessities and truths
that are harder gained
than by wailing
and suckling at momma's tit
struggles with our lovers
and struggles with the world
as if the same
struggles to get ahead
in all the ways of getting ahead
but it doesn't mean our lovers
are our enemies
for
like momma did
our lovers offer comfort and support
her criticisms are sometimes valid
usually valid
when your best interests
are truly in her heart
so
accept her blemishes
of soul and body
as all our blemishes
accept her
as more than a mere reflection of what you want to be
and what you want her to be
she stands in opposition sometimes
opposing
sometimes
to make us better
in a unique position of intimacy
from a different perspective of analyzing us
than our own subjectivity allows
to critique us
and offer guidance
like a child taught right from wrong
rewarding or punishing
just like the world
in figuring out
heat provides comfort
but too much heat
causes burns
and blisters
all the while
returning what she offers
which can be
a better path through the world
together
if we let it be
and accepting that
valuing that
while our asses grow wide
wrinkles burrow deep
our hair fails and greys
our breath sometimes foul
our habits sometimes crass
and accepting our strings of bad days and weeks
and months
this is the way of lovers
mature lovers
and this is the way of the world too
it opposes us
and we accept or flee
flee into metaphysical bullshit
of deities and afterlives and recurrences
accepting that nothing can be trusted
in this cruel corporeal world
that sets us up
as the patsy
to be eternally disappointed
and filling the void
of what's rejected
with utter nonsense
and exercises
justifying the fantastic
that are really
just exercises in laziness
and cynicism
and fear
the tickets permitting entry
to the funhouse
of rejecting the corporeal
in theory or principle
while ignoring that time
and divisions between things
are as essential to existence
as water and air
they may not be what we assume
ontologically
so give the wax and manifolds their due
but without time and space and difference
understanding them as we do
we are nothing
we can deny time
or the division between things
which I say
is the wailing of the petulant child
needing to suckle
rejection of physics
a petulant rebellion
against momma's tit taken away
we wail and reject
or accept the world
in a mature form of love
accept its challenges
instead of fleeing
like a coward
denying the absolute utility of time
and space and the difference between things
denying that he live that way
live with them as truths
so trains can stick to schedules
getting us where we need to go
when we need to go
so we can perform
what needs to be performed
and never stepping in front of the train
arguing on the one hand
nothing's authentic
nothing's known as it should be known
so it's probably not real anyway
logically concluded
no difference
ultimately
between us and and that train
it could all be an illusion
still
hedging our bets
avoiding the tracks in its passing
standing on the platform in some
state of idiotic discord
between believing and not believing
our illusions
telling ourselves there's nothing to fear in death
and no reason for sorrow in passing
yet
feeling abjectly fearful
and sorrowful
so don't buy the bullshit
from the ones selling it
whether the carnival barker is you or them
momma's tit was real
i assure you
don't mourn the loss by cursing the world that took
it away
instead
embrace its encouragement
to replace it with something even better
and fuck all the rest
who say otherwise
the german and the frenchman
offering keys
to doors
of funhouse rooms
filled with mirrors and lullabies
where miracles
and prayers to
st. anthony
durga
dakinis
igaluk
and the rest
somehow make sense
reject it
because succulent blooming bosoms were real
i tell you
they were soft and warm
nourishing
undemanding
and glorious
breasts swelled and ripe and lovely
and still lovely
and still there
standing in the past
as truths
there to guide you
away from the playrooms
of metaphysical nonsense
that are equally undemanding
and nourishing
so long as you
submit
the will to reason
so long as your submit
that those titties
weren't ever real
and just cause momma's tit
isn't here now
offering what it once did
don't be confused
it wasn't any less real
then
than it is now
still there to suckle
a different sustenance
from what was the prettiest girl on the block
hers like momma's
filled with a different nourishment
a bit more flat
a bit more flaccid than firm
with most of momma's fawning gone
since now we're one of many
she can't help but be indifferent
but momma's still there
don't fear
don't trade her in for a dispassionate
silicone lover
a plastic
pretend lover
mommma's still there
flesh and bone
soil and water
ready to passionately provide
if you deserve it
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