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 Apr 2014 John B
b for short
Hundreds of reasons
to smile today. Hundreds.
I'd like to be yours.
© Bitsy Sanders, April 2014
 Apr 2014 John B
b for short
It can't be helped—
I'm groomed to recognize rhythms
to slink and roll to synthetic beats,
to melt and form to that tight snare,
and find pure bliss in a groove.

So pay no mind
as I give my hips free reign.
This music makes a satisfying breeze,
and my freak flag needs to fly.
© Bitsy Sanders, April 2014
 Apr 2014 John B
b for short
Dear NASA,

I read somewhere that voluptuous women
do well in zero-gravity environments.
This makes complete sense to me
(and the “ladies.”)
Trust me, I've seen the pictures—
and we want that.

Hear me out.

Gravity's a drag.
Bras are too ****** expensive.
I feel like I’d manage to look twenty-five
for another twenty-five years
if I could somehow
avoid the sandbaggage
that I'm doomed to inherit.

It's a comfortable thought
to picture the once distressed,
top-heavy lady population
floating in ecstasy,
brassiere-less and beaming—
soaking in a  freedom so sweet
that a word just couldn't do it justice.

I think I speak for the whole
of my curvy comrades  
when I say that we'd appreciate
your cooperation in getting the lead out
as you breach the final frontier.

Because let me level with you:
there are plenty of things in this world
that can bring a girl down—
our most enjoyable assets
should not be two of them.


Please join us in the fight to stay ****.

With the warmest gratitude,

B
© Bitsy Sanders, February 2014
 Apr 2014 John B
b for short
At work, I pretend
to be that bright red balloon
freed in open skies.
© Bitsy Sanders, March 2014
 Apr 2014 John B
b for short
I don’t find it odd
to enjoy giving pleasure.
Here, let me prove it.
© Bitsy Sanders, March 2014
 Apr 2014 John B
b for short
When I bite my lip,
it signals that I wanna              
*bowchickawowwow.
© Bitsy Sanders, March 2014
 Apr 2014 John B
Richard Jones
My wife, a psychiatrist, sleeps
through my reading and writing in bed,
the half-whispered lines,
manuscripts piled between us,

but in the deep part of night
when her beeper sounds
she bolts awake to return the page
of a patient afraid he'll **** himself.

She sits in her robe in the kitchen,
listening to the anguished voice
on the phone. She becomes
the vessel that contains his fear,

someone he can trust to tell
things I would tell to a poem.
 Jan 2014 John B
Oli Nejad
Poem #35
 Jan 2014 John B
Oli Nejad
I can't describe -
How the yearning hides.

How it waits
Until the dead of night,
To wear upon the mind.
 Sep 2013 John B
Kaitlin Collide
Keep doing what you think is right
Even if you feel misunderstood
Persist
There will be people who will catch on
Be proud that you stayed true to your values
Even if they have been mended throughout your journey

— The End —