Daily Archives: July 9, 2014

World Record In Japan: Largest Orgy

Originally posted on 10/21/2009.  

Amusingly enough and perhaps not surprisingly, this is the single most visited poem on this blog. I would imagine a LOT of those who find it on a search are surprised when they get to a poem…I suppose I owe it to myself and those countless mystified seekers to do a revision.

Yes, it really happened.  Here’s the link:

World record in Japan: largest orgy
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“Synchronized positions from oral sex, 69 action, girl on top sex, zoom ups on various individuals and ejaculations on the breasts to complete the production.”  — from the ad for the DVD of the event

Only the untried imagining
is ever truly perfect
so it seems safe to assume the actual event
was as awkward in execution
as it seems to appear from the photos
of two hundred and fifty couples
in normed and scripted unison,
all allegedly getting off
in dry anticipation
of commercial gain and worldwide
admiration
as the cameras whirred.

No doubt somewhere
out in that warehouse
someone was thinking of the past,
and someone else of the future.
At least a few
were likely looking elsewhere,
those lovely bodies
moaning on the next mat
urging them on
in the name of
achieving individual goals — 
fame,
bragging rights,
the honor of having been there,
a jump start for fading lust,
a rocks-off jazzing of a minimal life,
a fantasy of visibility
amplifying the personal moment.

What happened afterward
is unrecorded.

It seems safe to assume
that some left together
and some did not.  
Some surely went home
and did something
that hadn’t been in the script.
Some have since 
tried to forget
that it ever happened.
Some thought about 
making it bigger,
grander, introducing new elements,
new positions and toys.
Perhaps they called up 
a few friends
to rehearse.

Somewhere out there
beyond the synchronized acts
and the documented proof of said acts
perfection remains 
untouched
and it will still be there
when we get up tomorrow 
from wherever 
we’ve laid ourselves down
tonight.


William Stafford

Originally posted 10/22/2012.

The last poems
of William Stafford
fill this room with light
when I open to them.

There are
poets who noun verbs
and verb nouns,
who never met
adjectives they didn’t
absorb, who know mostly
how not to be themselves
when they write; they praise themselves
endlessly for their own cleverness.
I can find their poems anywhere.
I often trip over them in the dark.

Reading the last poems
of then-dying,
now-dead
William Stafford, searching
for any darkness in there
that he certainly
would have been allowed
to express, but
it’s missing.
All that’s there is
light and
William Stafford.