Exceptional Beasts (from PWoF)

[CRNDLSM]

I agree, brilliant, but I don't think it would be here if you didn't have questions, and I have some.

Exceptional Beasts


These are the tired themes:    blunt intro, like you're about to challenge yourself to renew the cliches, I'm ready
my love, my sex, my dreams.    

O Life, you are a lion's den, I like how you start this with O, and leave it out of the tired themes
all love is for the children:
there is no sex among the grown,
and all my dreams are wicked.

Slabs of meat glued to the bone
and never fillets -- only enjoyed
raw, red. Water -- how I fear it!
as if my pride can be sustained
by a dry well on this sweltering plain.

O Love, you are an eclipse,
with God the sun and sex the moon
and life in your shadow a dream.

How I long for egress, however rare
these seven minutes in heaven are. Seven minutes in heaven references sex to me, slang for making out in a closet?, so I don't understand the connection to 'how plants eat, how men see'
Hell could not possibly be
how plants eat, how men see!   

You demand too much of me,
demand I take off my thinking cap,
demand I pull out my taroc pack.
Can't you be content
with my rose-tinted lens?

O Sex, you are a flute duet,
and my dreams are the flautists.

I am bathing naked in a stream,
my long hair (for my hair is long, this parenthesis seems like space filler, but I like how the air about your neck describes the hair length, I've never thought of it that way
the air about my neck is how I hide it)
flowing freely with the fishes' eggs.

The huntress is stunned. I cannot believe
what stuns her is the song my dreams recall.
No, it is lust, red and black,
and the notes we watch dance in the vivid air
land like drops of dew upon her hair.

Now, my love, let us mingle
in this water like hot blood
prefers to mingle in the dark,
on black stone, on the arc

that resurrects the night. Let embers
turn to flame, fire
turn to ash! Let the audience
suffer an unresolved chord
until the Liebestod --  this is all delicious reading material

O Dreams, you are a television screen. From a lion's den, to an eclipse, to a flute duet, to a television screen.  Makes me think all of this is from being depressed falling asleep watching television

Barred by the distance that is sleep, I watch
the old conclusion: Hippomenes winning Atalanta and this is the black and white movie from an age before even the age you lament
with golden apples gifted by a goddess.
I cry out: do not forget! do not forget!

But the pyres remain unlit
and the show goes on as written.
In Cybele's temple, they elope,
and in Cybele's temple, Ovid sings
another song of metamorphosis --

the curtain falls. Static
fills the signal. The lesson
sticks out: for us

exceptional beasts,
childhood must end cold. The television had a purpose afterall, 

Now let the summer of my verse begin.    Is this like waking up after the movie's over and saying you're content with where your life has wound up?  It's the only way I can interpret 'summer of my verse' since the rest has nothing to do with the seasons changing with time, which makes me think the line is out of place, kind of cheesy compared to the rest

Thanks for sharing this, I really like the structure and how you tackle the subject.