EROS Angels and demons aren’t mere folklore and myth; Freud said they are signs of our unfulfilled yearnings. Stories of gods who are wanton or wrathful Recreate our frustrations and deep-seated longings— Discontents that puncture civilizational veneers, Shake the so-called foundations of millennial faiths, And rattle the shackles of psychic wraiths Who pattern and shape our subliminal fears. Either praised or reviled Eros has been Since Helen’s amour was decried as obscene By those dreading excess—theologians, logicians, And, oddly, some addled metaphysicians. Eros, munificent spirit or godhead, Let your turbulence keep me aloft for a spell. Let me be carried on unrepressed ardor And let my pen venture, indifferent to censure. Eros is linked to ungovernable emotions, Which arise from below the transverse plane, A line that separates body and spirit, faculties rendering one sane or insane. Our inferior parts — not the ego, but id Is humanity’s bane, Freud…
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POETIC OCEANS 
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