To Diana

From the womb we came, corrupted by that interchange of legs and and lust and waste in daily passage, all a daily confirmation of our origin and destiny of birth and joy, and in the end all cast aside, returning to the earth.. And, what to make of this? Perfected paramecia we are, who separated once, at length gained our delight in conjugation, celebration of the rite that made us phallic little gods, banged out the earth eons ago-- made her a goddess like ourselves. We called her Gaia, ravaged her, and finally at rest, slept in her arms for an eternity--or so. It was Diana who would break the bonds of time, forsake the solemn scribes who wrote the canticle of man, and who presumed to separate the evil from the good. It was Diana who called down the muses from Olympus, bared her breasts, and taught the spirit winds the art of lust. Diana was the one who sang of God, of beauty undefined by penitence or prudery, instead by every kind of love! It is the Goddess of the Moon that I extol, beyond the dust of Earth. It is concupiscence that I must celebrate, for that in her becomes the piety of cherubim who would never understand the mystery of sin. ~