February 14

Going to the Russian bathhouse on Innes

to lie naked on a shelf in the steam

while the hatted man

swanning about with a birch branch

prances and lashes my calves and my ass

while you look on grinning

he lashes my chest and my parts and my arms

and flapping his hot birchy air

over finely scratched skin I sing

O muse of flagellation whose ways are formal!

O tingling effusions O circulation

O vivisection of the bum!

submit us to sensation

and deliver us to the pool of cold cold water

our bodies smarting

so our flesh may crawl

without meaning like our lunatic selves

sting like a lover’s pinch

which hurts and is desired