Roman
Poems by John Harris Author's Links |
Caravaggio's Self-Portrait That sexy un-beautiful fat face with the raggedy hair and beard... frowning he gazes at the saint being martyred in a tumult of angels recoiling men and boys... a hunk in a diaper wields a sword while the artist looks on from the background passive semi-involved murderous A Self-Portrait by Artemesia Gentileschi A Baroque self-portrait by a woman, a woman!-- surprised, I didn't get it at first. Her head's thrown back, contemptuous. One hand firmly grasps a palette, the other holds a brush and the portrait she's painting-- so close to her face-- looks like a red-lipped, bearded man who's about to kiss her. See, she seems to be haughtily saying, Pygmalion in reverse: Galatea's bringing a sexy man to life. Bernini: Apollo and Daphne They're both so pretty. But she's having none of it-- in fact, in her desperation, she's willed herself into bark, into startling leaves. Her mouth is open in panic-- a kind of orgasm. The carver's voluptuous talent is fearful: it makes her come. Caravaggio: Eros Triumphant A merry lad, he's just emerged from between tempstuous sheets. He still seems moist and flushed, he's happily tipsy with complete violation. Even his wings are bedraggled, a little sleazy. He's smiling, he's happy, he's ready to have another go. Come on, he says, all rosy invitation. It doesn't hurt. Or only a little. In Rome Do all these German honeymooners go back to their hotels and hump all night? I hope so! They're hot from the Villa Borghese-- they've been crammed in with those rosy rumps, those floret-nipples, those man-cracks and sagging, wrinkled scrotums-- and now they're eager to fuck new life into being. I hope a crop of their roseate babies will save the world-- save me!-- the shambling old man with his gray pubic hair, his tricky back, his tears. Carvaggio: The Madonna dei Palafrenieri A haggard, scary Anne looks on as her majestic daughter squashes a coiling serpent. Mary's son places his foot on hers. Naked, he's shown in raking light: his little peepee casts a prominent shadow. Peepee and snake are in evil proximity: as she grinds the snake underfoot, Mom seems with calm triumph to say This is what we do with dicks while the snake like any penis worthy of the name drips venom. Bernini: The Rape of Proserpina Look at his face: he's having fun. She, with her marble tears, is not. He hoists her while she squirms: look from behind at his powerful, twisting ass. Poor girl. Fucked by that sexy monster for six months straight, as rigid as his trident, tossed on the ground. Then, at last, she emerges, out to the open air. A fluttering cherub touches her with one pink finger. Oh, how she comes. |
WAR! || BROKEN NEWS || CRITIQUES & REVIEWS || CYBER BAG || EC CHAIR || FICCIONES THE FOREIGN DESK || GALLERY || LETTERS || POESY || SERIALS || STAGE & SCREEN || ZOUNDS |
©1999-2002
Exquisite Corpse - If you experience difficulties with this site, please
contact the webmistress.
|