The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator

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Thread: The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator

  1. #1

    The Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator

    The end of the affair is always death.
    She’s my workshop. Slippery eye,
    out of the tribe of myself my breath
    finds you gone. I horrify
    those who stand by. I am fed.
    At night, alone, I marry the bed.

    Finger to finger, now she’s mine.
    She’s not too far. She’s my encounter.
    I beat her like a bell. I recline
    in the bower where you used to mount her.
    You borrowed me on the flowered spread.
    At night, alone, I marry the bed.

    Take for instance this night, my love,
    that every single couple puts together
    with a joint overturning, beneath, above,
    the abundant two on sponge and feather,
    kneeling and pushing, head to head.
    At night alone, I marry the bed.

    I break out of my body this way,
    an annoying miracle. Could I
    put the dream market on display?
    I am spread out. I crucify.
    My little plum is what you said.
    At night, alone, I marry the bed.

    Then my black-eyed rival came.
    The lady of water, rising on the beach,
    a piano at her fingertips, shame
    on her lips and a flute’s speech.
    And I was the knock-kneed broom instead.
    At night alone I marry the bed.

    She took you the way a woman takes
    a bargain dress off the rack
    and I broke the way a stone breaks.
    I give back your books and fishing tack.
    Today’s paper says that you are wed.
    At night, alone, I marry the bed.

    The boys and girls are one tonight.
    They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies.
    They take off shoes. They turn off the light.
    The glimmering creatures are full of lies.
    They are eating each other. They are overfed.
    At night, alone, I marry the bed.

    Anne Sexton

    This is one of my all-time favorite poems. The thought of a woman masturbating makes me a little uncomfortable; but once I got used to that, the poem became part of my soul. Sexton was focussed on her search for love, and I was similarly focussed all my life. The interesting thing is that everything else that Sexton wrote was a kind of rambling, formless free verse. To write this remarkable poem must have been a very different experience for her. I wonder if she got some help.
    Last edited by Caleb Murdock; May 31st, 2018 at 11:23 AM.

  2. #2
    Woody Allen always enjoyed the cuddling time afterwards...Ann Sexton is rather good..never cared for her trying to sing her poetry though...
    The only one who can heal you is you.


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