me? i have no bond shares in terms of lying,
i have no profit...
i walk the streets at night painting a canvas
with only brown hue offshoots:
first it’s three bavarias,
then it’s a stella artois,
then a cobra,
after that a belgian leffe blanc,
i finish off with a saint michael from spain...
after that it’s barcode whiskeyh at 10.30 a bottle...
between khaki and tawny?
well, there’s ochre and there’s sepia...
there’s carbonated synopia and there’s slave hydroxy-loss rufous...
all shades of brown set againt st. andrew’s cross...
shadows in the fog i too tamed japan in spring
rather than in the wilderness of the seas among the waving waves
of the mongol invasion planned...
oh care less for me in my attention for an escapism...
it spans the lodgings of jailor and the strutting bars
as it might in 2d iv slash through to v....
i am wed to my past... i have not clear value for tomorrow...
because, after all, cats and dogs are cheaper to keep than women
obviously enough true and sad thus.
about that litmus testing i entitled this poem?
£110 prostitutes will not lie concerning having an ******,
i wish i had a bigger phallus to have one-night-stands...
bed more women...
but given the size of mine, the prostitutes i try to be familiar with
in an hour for £110 will ask for an extra £10 to give them oral ***...
and among them only one had an ******,
the rest didn’t fake it... they they just numb from not having it...
it humbling i might add... to pay for something numbing
and see what other cares have failed when tried...
it’s sobering to see a ******* worth £110 an hour...
and not see it translated into self-esteem of an orgsam
due to the fact that one’s phallus was not big enough
to provide an intimate relationship
of the objectification of an hour...
that’s what’s so ardently lost in me...
in wish for relationships that only last a night...
i have sacrificed the only relationship i could have had...
spanning beyond the blue of the moon once noted and thus lost:
******* envy? not so much, casual-envy of what can easily reclaim
a morbid frequency of the repeat and dis-satisfaction...
any shred of egoism can thus be discarded,
when it comes to ******* sizing...
i also have this defense mechanism like a turtle shell or
a hedgehog at a barbers... the freudian madonna-***** complex
splintering... an impotence mechanism...
when given the chance for a one-night-stand...
ironic you might say... not that macho said anything concerning bicep or tricep
to be worried about on the same magnitude... macho didn’t,
so i acknowledge when to speak and not feel un-concerned for the right reasons.