Descartes versus Rousseau, Twelve Round Title Match

She moves across the bay, inhuman. Every stroke's the same.
She's more machine than she is flesh and bones, and I
Am, on the shore, a mindless mass of timeless urges,
Human? No, and not machine. I am the act which has to
Happen. She will finish her routine, and , from it, gather
Something I can't gather. She says, "Satisfaction."
I will, with primeval patience, wait for her to strip away
Her suit, and follow me to bed, before her shower, before
All the measured movements which will indicate that she's
Mechanical, a thing beyond humanity, while I'm a good way
Short of it: the siren song of procreation, irresistible
To even those who are machines.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 57 times
Written on 2018-07-12 at 03:50

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Coo & Co The PoetBay support member heart!
Yes, very intriguing we agree with otp.

Members of Coo & Co, aka BirdBrains, do not know much of Descartes and Rousseau either. And we suspect, were we to guess at the relevance of the poem's title to its content, we should only embarrass ourselves.

Therefore, we hope it is enough to comment that we very much enjoyed this poem, and we certainly picked up on the contrast between the mechanical lady and the instinctive gentleman, if those are the correct terms here :>)

one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
This is very intriguing. I wish I better knew my Descartes and Rousseau. I'm not sure of the analogy, but the imagery conveys enough, perhaps.