it didn’t just happen

deep inside me,
so deep there is no light.
no one goes there.
it’s always cold.
i hunt for food
for another thought.
outside strangers pass
in their own ghetto.
some fucking wet.
some dry with no desire.
i invite them
to my glory hole.
fat ones, long ones.
short and skinny ones.
a foreskin mystery.
their names mean less
than what i hold
in my hand.
between my lips
i’m not condemned
by my conversations.
i plagiarize their story.
a hopeless romantic
their balls tap dance
on my chin.
delicious is the juice
of this forbidden fruit.
patriotism there is none.
we pledge no allegiance
to any stars and strips.
there are no calendars
or time pieces.
i reminisce of suicide john
the sunday morning masturbator.
i evolve into a parasite.
my poverty humbles me.
i accept any meat left
on any of the bones.
i stir what’s left
in the bowl and smoke it.
tripping on the tongue
of my vulnerable acquaintance.
more times than not
i’m content with this creation.
he fumbled his way
to my manicured hole.
he crawled deep inside me
so deep there’s no light.
he found my poetry,
his nuts did a tennessee waltz.
he filled me full of lead,
confessed his love.
i married him for his nipples
many odd years ago.

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