ONANISTIC
HISTORICAL NOCTURNE

The little house was by the sea--
One of many houses
Set in rows of three, each individual
In its architecture, in its color.
Yet each mirroring all the others
So that none were individual, all were the same.
Villas, they were called--
Named so by the owner.
A million and a half someone said he spent.
And yet in spite of all his troubles, money, work, ideas,
They still were barren, sterile, lifeless places;
Where rich men spent vacations.

But they were by the sea, and the sea--
In spite of rich men, villas and a million dollars--
Still is unaffected, remains aloof, does not even mind--
Or punish--
The audacity of the little men and women who wade into it
For their daily swim, as casually as if it were a bathtub
Or a pool which they Had Built and Owned.
I love the sea; I am frightened by it; little breakers give me hints.

I left my desk at two ayem, my typewriter sat stolidly, baring sullen
teeth,
Refusing to cooperate.

I turnedback from the door and stared--
To show the typewriter, untruthfully, I was not afraid of it.
I dropped my trunks and walked out ankid into the breeze

2/

That was breathed up from the sea.

The other villas were asleep, and so I was not afraid ashamed
To show my naked body to the moon.

I walked down to the beach with the litheness and free movement

That always comes to me when no clothes are there to bind me.

I laughed: if it had been afternoon, I would have been arrested.

An ecstatic thrill swept over me,

For what I was doing was what people said people should not do.

As I walked, a turgid electricity swept down my arms, my chest, into
my legs

Till I could hardly move my legs to walk.

For I knew what I should do:
should

I would be the lover of the sea.

The water hit my ankles as the waves washed up.

I waded out. I gasped for breath at the touch of wetness

As the breakers bubbled furiously about my loins.

A tumid torpor of the blood engulfed me

Until I could hardly bring myself to touch my body.

So for a while I reveled in the bubbling and the wash
Of the frigid and oblivious sea.

The moon was Midas and it touched the sea.

Small lightnings spat abnormal brightness for out to sea,

For on the sea there are no buildings to cut the light in half.

And, familiarly, a Woman came into my mind,

A Woman I have never met, a Woman I may never meet,

A Woman far away--if at all,

A Woman not as other women (and I have known and lived with many),

A Woman I have dreamed of, A Woman I may never find.

And it was not my hands, but hers, that caressed my body under water.

3/

It was not my lips but hers that kissed my fingertips and arms, and pts.
The washing of the breakers and the spitting of the lightnings
Were the only measurements of time.

And then the sweetly-smelling sperm spilled out and mingled with the pungent-smelling water.

I had been mated with the xxx ocean.

I had become the lover of the sea.

And then a sense of power lifted me; a sadness tore me;
An elation made me laugh directly at the lightning.

I left the water swiftly and waked back nakid up the walk.

I no longer feared the stupid dull phlegmatic typewriter.

I went inside to finish up the story that had had me stumped.