Not the goodly, comely animal
sweat and tears and hair and  fur,
smells of love,
Greenman's breath, 
a shaman's erect ecstasy,
shiela na gig, portal of pleasure and life.
The Star Goddess and Her Shepherd,
raising fields of barley with their joy.
Kalachakra and Vishvamata,
Generating Blessings
for all Sentient Beings,
Shekinah and God,
making love,
calling the Universe
into existence.
Sweet earth and spring rutting
 goat, stag, sow.
 
No,
not the simple divinity of flesh.
Behold the sophisticated Beast
how charming
his snarl, masking
 
the same
dreary paradigm
in a new
package.
Reality turned on it's ear, once again.
 
There is a difference
between making love
and getting laid.  Fucking.  Having Sex.
Have sex, have a beer, have a pizza.
Consumable.  Buyable.  Disposable.
Chip away little pieces of soul, and maybe
You'll get numb enough. 

Take dreams and words of sweetness,
beloved, soul friend, 
or just fellow traveler,
well met on the road
sharing courage, pleasure,
comfort, or story.
 
Take these naiveties,
and piss on them real good. 
 
Long live the adaptable Patriarchy
and the consumer society!
Teach them well and young
and give them minds
that can abstract
just about anything.
 
Long live S&M, Bondage,
and torture chambers of the heart
masquerading
as freedom.
Make rituals of degradation.
Celebrate it!  Make a religion out of it!
Tie the Goddess up.  
Repeat the childhood wound, and pass it on!
 
Oh, and while you're at it
call it Tantra.
 
See the same old contempt,
the eyes of the sad Beast
behind the leer.