Jack Spratt

120722 19:27 time

I measure time by several conceptions mostly solar the seasons of the sun for I am by heart, viscera and soul a pagan and those definitions of god backward before time was a concern or consciousness measurable--nothing discernible of their passing before mine.

Winter solstice nadir of my life churning change my emotional year surviving which I know another annum is mine. I dance before bonfires howling my plea for life the sun's return and time both precious to me yet greater so is truth; like all life I have seasons, a time to be born, a time to live by whatever measure short or long and a time to die.

I sense an urgency now on rushing my seventy-second-year coupled with a feeling, more a conviction, an apprehension that while intercourse is sacred to me I've not known a woman who shared my devotion such worship this celebration of life so plebeian unwashed by sanction of any kind yet why are we here standing upon the bones and souls who engendered us this species monkey amphibian or divine yet a mendicant monastic ribald covertly & sensuously erotic am I bereft a mate so inclined.

Truth be told from soul mate backwards in my time I've made love to mother, sister, playmates of the sandbox kind not centerfold. In that regard unlike still life paintings the artist is not allowed to consume the fruit normally after depiction. By my conception of myself I remain a rutting snuffling growling beast covered with hair my club laying beside me for any other competing beast seeking to eat my dove.

What is by necessity rapid the mating of mice frantic or languorous when time and circumstance allows followed by orgasmic slumber to arise and do it all over again harder.

Ardor in time ebbs finding myself barefoot upon the sands of an hourglass headed for oblivion. I realize that celibacy has it own rewards. The peace of solitude comes to mind. In innocent guile sallying forth to public congress making love to souls oblivious my coupling with their minds gamed hearts sole reward slowly ticking towards the final and fatal tock.

In gratitude for M & Isis the best hours of joy I've ever known brightening the new year longer by day afterward then the third longer again;

Love, Osiris

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved

--Ambrose Bierce

BABE or BABY, n. A misshapen creature of no particular age, sex, or

condition, chiefly remarkable for the violence of the sympathies and

antipathies it excites in others, itself without sentiment or emotion.

There have been famous babes; for example, little Moses, from whose

adventure in the bulrushes the Egyptian hierophants of seven centuries

before doubtless derived their idle tale of the child Osiris being

preserved on a floating lotus leaf.

Love: A temporary insanity curable by marriage.

Pray: To ask the laws of the universe to be annulled on behalf of a single petitioner confessedly unworthy.