Illyria

This sensualist novel is giving me fits!
They call it a comedy, of course,
Though a serious one--so much the worse.
How could this book be describing anything
Approaching normal human behavior?
What with decadent idleness, goaty males,
Fructuous females, and homuncular kids
In a setting that reeks of vineal rot;
Where there is no purpose, no motivation
Beyond the alpha-beast's urge to rut;
No colorshift language, just pink-purple prose,
And arbors and beaches and tumbledown villas,
A land of perpetual gloaming and gropes.
Is it only priapean fantasy,
Soft porn projected on peonie screens,
Or does sense lie behind sexuality?
I'm too old to care about satyrs and sea-nymphs;
Let me see what the next hundred pages bring.