Dirty Nature

(To both Fescennia and Etruria)
I enjoy frugally, the ancient Etruscan concept:

That a pestilent, plant-hair’d house, with vines crawling from its eyes

May be a romantic setting in which to loiter and enjoy the world,

Stuck, comfortably, to a grubby corner of an opulent old building,  
Hacking belts and pistils from its windows,

Earth moans, through foul-smelling breezes and choked plants

I curl my knees up to my chin and wrap them in my arms

Willow tree bends outside, stretching his fingers, making his leaves rustle

I am a safe little present, elliptical beneath that willow
Eclipsed only by the sleaze of the neighbourhood –

I am a present wherein lurks the foul tenderness of acceptance,

(Eat your hearts out, you ‘all-accepters’),

Delighted by streaky tracks of light, bruising the leaves,
Defiled, Cherubic, robbed of their virginity -
Rocks lick and suck on each other, beneath a sodden rag -
My left side is warm and I leave for an old promise
I, the broad, dioecious Hercules (w/ rippling muscles)

Have remained true to both my word and
My promise to elaborate on past-promises,

Licentious Fescennia may once again swell and grow