The Rhythm of Sex

I am constantly reminded
of the rhythm of sex
in everything and 
it is beautiful.
It's the beating 
of a lover's heart
close to your ear
pressed up against a
tender chest welcoming
and warm as your head
is lain to rest near
the womb where
life is held
after the point of conceptions
by our mothers, it is all 
beautifully connected 
in the voided world.
I hear the rhythm
of sex in art.
In the drummer's
snare
and in the painter's
stroke and in the 
poet's verse
I hear the rhythm 
in machinery too 
the hum of a refrigerator
the roar of a train 
in the firing of engines
and in the starting 
of lawnmowers and
motorcycles.
I hear the rhythm
of sex in everyday speach
by priests 
by politicians
by adults
by students 
and by children.
The rhythm of sex 
is essence.

Reviews

[Brett Campaigne]

This poem gets to the point without getting to the point, and this is good. It has an accessible surface quality that is transparent to the many implicit thoughts beyond. The very ending is scandalous, and there may be people who get offended if they have the eyes to see. But I think you are trying to bring to the fore the universalizing force which is sexuality, and how all our metaphors of our languages orbit around this very Freudian consideration.