once you claim to not have not experienced
all the fooling with women in youth
and exhausted the libido...
you never really want to claim a need
for their company while ageing and
growing jealous when her stories emerge
over drunken conversations when her
friends get invited -
i mean, it's almost like you have a *****
stitched to your forehead that
is a reminiscence of youth not claimed -
indeed old age is hell for women...
and youth the hell for men -
in between there are children...
feminism is an odd-ball... it's this rebellion
against an ageing patriarchy...
men who sway power...
what a weird and wired fetish of thinking...
why would i claim companionship with a woman
if she experienced all the sensual freedoms
in her youth... while all i got is a freedom
of a range of professions? exertion of one muscle
here, exertion of another muscle there...
had i stuck to full-time industrial roofing i'd
probably write one poem a week...
oh please, let's not obstruct with too much consciousness
of how poetry is defined, that's for english teachers
to rekindle hopes of a Shakespeare resurfacing
while ignoring Milton in the curriculum ante-vitae...
no, when youth is not allowed mutual pleasures...
the following concerns for life suddenly disappear...
there's no acidity relevant to it, no abhorrence,
no need to testify a revenge...
it's all a matter of comfort... and it's more comfortable
to be without a woman than with one,
considering the pelvic-pivot-of-*** was not strained
well enough to settle down into a friendship
with women... since my own sensuality was barely
scraped to consider a friendship...
instilled in me, the idea of two potential flints
scratched for a spark... but nonetheless remaining
two rounded marble spheres
that dimmed the lights... i felt it too opposing
to consider a half measured sensuality forced into
a platonic love... i might as well have been born a homosexual.