Will de Kypia


In praise of promiscuity

Bless the false lovers, bless and protect them.

Those who rise up in heat, lie down in lust,

then coldly uncouple in guilt and disgust.

May they cast off judgment along with their

garments lest they realize that the carnal carnival

is but one night of sport preceding a perpetual Lent.

Domesticate passions, temper ecstasy,

avert their eyes when they dress so

the pain of parting will be less.

Bless the false lovers, modestly and briefly.


In praise of omelets

Consider the leopard. A carnivore.

She eats raw meat, no mango muck for her.

Chases gazelle across the desert and feasts.

Be you like her a beast. 

Or else eat nothing more wicked than the mildest

sins of children, nothing coarser than the souls

of angels, nothing less pure than nothing at all.

But never violate the flesh of Mother Earth.

Rend not with horrid implement her bearded fig, her

hornéd honeydew. Ape neither the brutes who raise up

armies of maize to die like golden warriors nor those

scullery ghouls with phallic pestle and vulgar mortar

who crush...slowly, cruelly, wantonly...the innocent

herb and even the most blameless of spices.

Alone in his kitchen the vegan slices cabbage.

Slices it very thin, then licks the juice from the blade.

The vegan grieves for bees inhumanly hived,

yearns to devour the sun's rays with his green

skin, to live immaculately upon breath alone.

He will die a gaping rictus in a hard winter.


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