140 years ago these women would have been
derided - hell... beyond derision...
they would have a personal crusade launched
against them by some Kuba: Jack: Jacob
the Ripple & hardly the rapper: pish-poor
poet... it's not enough to abhor that one
poem Walt Whitman wrote...
                 last time i checked: i didn't give
her £120 for an hour: £2 per minute for
some ****** conversation...
               we wouldn't be found eating anything
except each other's lips...
that money wasn't for lies...
or to tend to my plum-bruise of a vanity
(project)...
     a body so well worn it could be mistaken
for an antique leather chair...
not an inch of hair: shy...
superior in motif of reigniting the shy deer
******...
- because i don't like the way people ****
in *******: perhaps something from
the classical period: Italy... 1970s...
but not how it happens these days...
all those Japanese girls and the art of insinuation:
feeds the imagination...
but on the antics of the setting sun crew:
all that ****... all that... ugh...
not that i'm owed anything:
but i only spend money on whiskey...
she'll prop up the economy on little pointless
somethings to buy...
- what's the counter argument: if any?
   of those things that make life indispensable...
shelter... nourishment... ***?
if i am not owed a human touch...
   i already practice rubbing my hands:
esp. my fingertips on a brick wall before
i enter the brothel and see her body
in braille...
but all contained in that one hour:
fire & water... earth & air...
stars & vacuum...
a list of songs that best encapsulates
the act: nine inch nails' heresy [version]...
   boy harsher: country girl EP
trevor something: into your heart...
    trentemøller: deceive...
anything by portishead...
   so cruel by poliça...
   the kilink: nautilus...
               such is the price of freedom...
so much so you'd think, me writing this in 2021...
it would feel... like some second pinnacle
of liberation...
like the 1960s ****** revolution did take place:
for both women... & men...
well... for some: & men...
                           between all that anaemic take
on ***... all the rubber & anaesthetic of the digital
teasing...
no getting your hands *****...
blah blah...
             a visit to the brothel isn't a "shortcut"...
what qualms: being single...
what baby-trap... just wholesome fuckery...
like baking a muffin with ripe bananas...
oats and pecans...
*** that feels like nourishment...
*** that feels like: having a roof over your head...
*** that's not tired *** *** that needs
to be "improved" with games...
toys... roles... ******* uniforms...
at that point *** is chore...
       ******* numbing **** shrivelling...
say... how often do you walk to your local
store for a pint of milk at 9:30pm...
and find... two cans of hipster IPA est. MMXV
'heart & soul' (GLUTEN FREE)
on the sidewalk... one opened and finished...
the other unopened?
someone's watching over me...
or someone wants to have a drink with me...
of course i took it...
it was an unopened can of hipster IPA...
- in the end you're paying for something...
on a date: a dinner... the cab home...
the condoms... the flowers... etc.
why not just stop pretending... cough up
what's in the back of the mind up-front
and do away with the lies, the pretending...
after all... i find it hard to imagine
that it's easy to lie to someone when they're
naked... when both of you are naked...
she might tell me to avert my eyes
when she's cleaning herself in the shower
after the antics...
but... she'll be honest in saying she likes me...
she'll even ask where i got my scar from:
that one on my right shoulder-blade...
i'll joke and tell her:
that's the wing they clipped off...
the other one is still attached: invisible...
obviously it's... well... a romance itch...
citing that i was born circa 2 weeks after
the Chernobyl disaster... even though it happened
in the Ukraine... the effects were felt in Poe-Land
Paul's Land... a streak of autumn in the trees
in the middle of spring... pregnant women drinking:
******* IODINE...
when everyone is at it in that:
sociopathic sort of way...
    the tender man who still believes in: room'ance...
ha... i was i was: until i wasn't...
i don't even "think" it's about:
me getting some after a Teutonic stint in Lithuania
of 3 years: dry with "warring" in the pagan forests...
not the jealous type...
thank god there's no topic of rings...
******* rings... ****-hurt emotions about:
ownership... the modality of mediocre morals...
i'd still love to **** in a forest at night
with a ****** moon...
autumn... with the scent of sweet decay...
frisky air... that sort of thing...
years of denial - crow... another great song
to: mingle with the maggot **** of limb
through to limbless...
- to reiterate: i hardly paid for lies...
after all... in all brutish honesty one would
tell me: how all the black guys have
envious parts in their pants...
sure... and the ancient Greeks noted that
a large phallus implied something along
the lines of "physiognomy" a barbarism...
another laughed about my man-*****
before i got into shape and lost 20kg...
what wonders 100 push-ups a day can do...
i'm no pornographer...
it would require me rereading some of
Marquis de Sade getting a hard-on from
mere reading...
   one of those books: to be read using one
hand...
but it's no game of pretending:
that a nun is on offer...
         all the best possible **** with the least
amount of responsibility...
always stressing personal hygiene...
which was probably unthinkable 100 years prior..
but when everyone's at it: sociopathic-ally...
among the "woke" crowd: i'm: slept...
it would take a Mongol invasion...
it would take the Teutonic crusade (i blame
that ******* Barbarossa not learning
to swim... or inventing the bicycle...
sure... he made it to Jerusalem... as a rancid pickle)
it would take the Swedish deluge...
it would take the Ottoman Turks at Vienna...
it would take Catherine the Great...
it would take the Nazis and the Soviets...
to get me to somehow... bargain with
pink tushies...  wangry woes of -man...
- the fable of the infamous ****-pick "shelf-ie":
that men take it after they have just
*******... so it looks larger...
hell... what competition taking one:
oh god... a ******* intact... no MGM in sight...
then again: no "MGM" also no tonsure...
or kippah... or a niqab... worthy sacrifices should
this tight-knit beginning & end of a tux imitation
come off...
i don't see why i can't celebrate prostitutes...
they're better than priests & / or psychiatrists...
in the grand scheme of "things" of the 3P's...
priests... psychiatrists... prostitutes...
i'm last: if i'm a poet to begin with:
i don't think i am: not that rhyming is a measure
of what's doodled and doesn't delve into
crime-fiction...
Horace my guide...
- sometimes whiskey tastes best: warmed up in
a cup of coffee: i'm never returning to adding cream!
- feminists bemoaning the fate of girls
who just like to touch... touch... touch...
it's hardly a carrot & a stick tease with some
pornographic actress... it's ******* a plumber equivalent...
it's not seeing a psychiatrists or therefore a priest
because: it just makes sense...
i hate Walt Whitman for his ******-y audacity...
stick to boys... my only advice...
these women tightly knit leisured like
one might leisure after a well worn leather armchair...
not a nun in sight...
hallelujah!