Caravaggio: Eros Triumphant
A merry lad,
he's just emerged
from between temptestuous 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.
Bemini: 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.
Caravaggio: 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.
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.
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.
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.
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