Procreation deepens the ignorance of the contemporary nuclear family shielded from the reality beyond that compass. Edit courtesy of If You Please.
Is there a direction for lust
Other than the unsaturated world;
Elaborate rooms of wagging tongues
Framed with petrified studs:
Its palace’s spacious, multiplied expanse
Modified by one or more or many more
To occupy the earth with further needs?
All that might have been
Unconstructed, unhoused, unknown;
Constrained to the divided empire of the senses,
Broken up with inveterate independence,
Activated by necessity like fools on chains.
No emperor known, even suspected,
Whose great ships rest in their last domain.
© ross 2020