Faunus/Girls Gone Wild

Foreshadowed by the ancient gloom

FAUNUS was said by some primordially to be a “Wolf-God,” the Strangler

horny goat by the Hermes anecdote: PsychoPomp of the little death: one-handed: material mercurial trickster: he brought the fire: he was the messenger: as Prometheus was the forethought and Epimetheus the afterthought in the hornygoatweed :

(indirectly it was He [we mean Sandal-Wings] who brought the Masturbation thing to humanity but only through the agency of the Son, Ffaunos the Strangler the chickenchoker was taught this Art by his father and Pan the All the Goatman went and showd off the tricksters maneuvers to each goat and lonely shepherd crossed in his nymph-chasing Path, seed raining fortune to the herdsman’s boundaries, he taught this one-handed trick to their youth who in turn transmitted it to all mankind

/arts and crafts by sin?/

in the same way that the fire in the hearth is mystically duplicated heartshaped in infiniform magic let’s make it tripartite that’s more heartshaped anyway in the name of crafty father Mercury imparting to the son in masturbatory wisdom and the numen of that holy glow post-haze driven crazy yet self-satisfied

the Crime of bringing the Fire to mankind’s worth as in the hearth guarded by virgin vestal the phallus itself is said to be mystically duplicated

[the fire is inviolable]

Mercury in exhibition to the goatling

who brought the wine, bro?

and the gift of compensation for frustration to mankind purely by spectacle watching father monkey see monkey do and all with the voice of the woods going at it in repetitive ingress soma rooting drug shine sharply blaring all the while of the noisy cortege of bacchanals setting good or bad examples:

wine-drenched vine-folk stalk ‘n stem, hanging with bunches, lynxes and panthers pounce, girls in skins to the tympan beat bang sylvan breast bare with maiden nipple erection, muzzles gory, beating the bone, pinkened tan with flush of wine, the girls, to consume raw shanks of doe or fawn or buck they’ve overtaken in their parade, while satirical faunuli and nymphettes frolick with stately unicorn rams, then at last the wise old druid of a drunkard on the fat ass farts: ongoing the procession of winedrenched vinefolk manifest from green to flesh tones, girls gone wild, all in oil colors, stalk ‘n stem, laden with bunches of grapes in buskin shields o’erspilling

while children toddle nude and grimed as if in woodstock places bumming to the toodle of the beat of the tympan, kidz wrestle in play with the lynxes and panthers all crowd cortege of crazy crash, and back to the buskined girls whose maws are bloodied with the remnants of their hunt

Lord of Liberty, the Loosener

the Loosened

o Liber, tibi semper fides!

[somatic]

drugwater of a juice

is it pressed in a juice

by milkmixt processing

melliflow from the arbor mead

or blood of earth in your veins, stardust as always:

that is you in distillation of

carbonic compounds

obviously a Plant,

Love, you Toxin [WHERE THE CURE?]

Happy Valentine’s!

My Bucolica is a modern reboot of the "eclogue" form originating in Classical Greece and Rome, much rehashed throughout all European literature. It usually comes in the form of a collection of shepherd's songs, dialogues, and stories featuring themes of love/desire, nature/the seasons, death/mortality and the passing of time. It is often a playground to poeticize the animal world and humankind's relation to it, as well as particulars of the seemingly idyllic life led by simple shepherds and farmers in Arcadia. It is also referred to as bucolic literature. I wrote my Bucolica 2017-2018 in a mix of poetry and prose.