I have never been anyone’s teacher
not once
not caught in loose
arms not in anyone’s embrace
not night-long
beneath his cloak’s loose folds
did I once turn around
Weaken a little more the wine with water
a drop will do
a moment’s scarlet curl
as of a lock, a lock unfurled
into night nothing goes
gentle atom in this wooden-bowl
can I taste it what pretends
Not to exist I have never been anyone’s
teacher not in
his winged sandals wronged
Hermes made of broken
stone struck
off the nose he struck
god in gentle pose
with stone struck
off the penis he struck
the god in his gentle
Repose weaken a little more the wine
with water
it’s how you learn
to greet a lover
when no word
can speak the inner
need you learn
this custom of
first between eyes
gently then the crotch
You touch I have never been anyone’s
teacher who
in his anger would
scorn the loose-robed one
who bare
footed steps on the heads
of those who feel
love loosens
lips are for other words
not these words
That weaken a little more this wine
as water does
almost all weaken
a page even
I bend down
my head to the book
open in my lap
a page might be
short treatise on the
soul in love
But I who have never been anyone’s
teacher cannot
say love without love
becoming an idea
desire casts a little
shadow in the form
of love
it cannot forsake
wholly the nerve
denies it is not numb
Even so weakened with water this wine
One response to “Socratic”
[…] The Cultural Society has “Socratic,” a new poem from Dan Beachy-Quick. […]