Verse 41
Do not sing to me of Venus. I have seen what beautiful things demand from those who believe them.
Do not sing to me of Venus. I have seen what beautiful things demand from those who believe them.
The bright planet rises clean because distance launders everything.
Bring it near and the hymn becomes pressure, acid, heat, stone.
That is my accusation: beauty has excellent public relations.
The rose recruits by color and defends itself with thorns. At least the rose is honest enough to display both.
Men built temples to desire and were surprised when desire asked for sacrifice.
Women were made into goddesses and punished whenever they behaved like people.
Poets called jealousy proof of love because poets are rarely charged for the damages.
If Venus rules harmony, let her explain every song played over an argument.
If Venus rules marriage, let her read the court records.
If Venus rules pleasure, let her visit the addict at dawn.
No, I do not hate pleasure. I hate invoices arriving under sacred seals.
The priests say, Desire teaches you. So does fire. I still do not sleep in it.
Inanna descends and returns. Excellent for Inanna. Most of us descend and meet rent.
Lucifer falls beautifully because painters control the lighting.
Zohra plays the lute while somewhere a man mistakes a melody for permission.
Shukra knows resurrection. Ask him whether he can resurrect wasted years.
The astrologer told me Venus was afflicted. I told him so was my bank account, and the planets had not contributed.
A cat loved me correctly once: it came when it wished, left when it wished, and never promised eternity.
I trusted the cat more than every sonnet.
There should be a commandment: Thou shalt not confuse intensity with truth.
Another: Thou shalt not call suffering profound merely because the sufferer is attractive.
Another: Thou shalt not build destiny from hormones and favorable lighting.
The heavens remain silent on these amendments.
Morning Star, you are only reflected sunlight. I find this comforting.
Imagine the scandal if every idol admitted where its brightness came from.
I too am reflected things: my parents, books, accidents, hungers, dead conversations.
So perhaps my contempt is borrowed as well.
I wanted to condemn beauty and discovered I was angry at wanting it.
This is humiliating, which is at least a form of accuracy.
O Venus, I withdraw half my indictment.
The other half remains until you explain why longing survives fulfillment.
Do not send a priest.
Send the cat.