Simple as Momma’s Tit

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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