Dear Da Vinci,
Dear Mr. Talented,
You and your images
Vitruvian Man, man colored in red ink
You hide these images in your work
You’re more special than most people think
OUTSIDE
Sun awakens from its sleep
stillness of the day uninterrupted
morning rituals call
hold to momentary pause.
The mirror speaks,
an epiphany.
Its quintessence brought forth so true
prior existence but a dream, deep unconscious.
Such ***** speech proclaimed;
Othelo’s troubles yet persist
this dread now orbits secret self.
Two reflections to bare,
one more true than real, incorruptible authenticity.
The other, searching for hope deferred
Doused with water from dry wells
that reflection now mutated for society’s dictums
bare
da Vinci’s vitruvian man now lost.
Ellison’s Invisible Man
transmogrified from progeny to enigma
Outside,
dichotomy of self-serving expectations to
universal being more paradoxical
calling to a barren soul.
Oh, only to denude my camouflaged existence for a day
If the screen were one shade of grey
would for a day, just to live all grey
Tony Ginyard (c)
From the first instant
my eyes laid bare
circled and squared
at the feet
of a Vitruvian man,
the one uniqueness
in my possession,
I was lust to your loins
as images permeated
and shivered my thighs,
I felt a rising veracity
to savour the tang of you
longing to rip your Levi’s
into little streamers and hang them
from my window,
while tieing your Johnny Rebs
to my planter box,
the world would know
you were mine
I became the seductress
you could not resist
relentless,
designing schemes
so Machiavellian,
Lector would
have been impressed
and helped
shameless in my pursuit
pulling out all stops
I acted unaffected,
but the sight of your length
made me drool
my first tell
finally,
the maelstrom
churning my gut
my hunger,
gave me away
under the slick
of your hands,
my body arched
addicted to the textures
and plains,
mania seized all good sense
I writhed as you rocked,
by the time your hands
released my breasts,
I was howling my release
a wildcat thrashed to frenzy
my tricksters hand called
and beaten by a pro
who could have guessed?
ME!
aced by the hand of a machinehead
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