my poetic lament

i write poetry
naked, my scars speak
for themselves.
never muted,
for the sake
of hiding a crime,
or making a deal.
my hardon believes
in god. i believe
in parasites. i fuck
them to make them
whole. price
is negotiated.
poems are expensive,
when filled
with fiction.
i’ll try to get close
to you,
till your nipples
rub on mine.
and my poem,
enters you,
for a second time.
and maybe someday,
we’ll be friends.
or i’ll marry you.
after coming home,
from the war.
released from chains,
that bind words,
and creative juices.
tomorrow i may
dress in fur,
my scars,
will have nothing
to say, and you
won’t recognize me.

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