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Between Legs And Logs
leaning forward
into the monitor,
the back legs of my office chair,
deserving a metaphor,
something on the lines of:
'erect like the asses of my lover',
left the ground like captain antilles.
i peered
-no-
i searched for the answer.
skimming blogs
and googling
recently deceased poets
anthems,
their bios.
anything i could glean.
the lyrics from odelay
silver mooned
artwork hung
off the skirt of a thirty
something teeny
telling me she
wanted cum tonight
i want some too
but something purer
than one night tripe.
-inspiration-
i jogged under the weight of loneliness
hoping to release the endorphins
and write firework splashes of poetry
so i released my
euphoric state on the pavement
dud.
God was watching on a fold out
chair as i went into the bathroom
at the community pool and jerked off
He could have touched my robe
and i would have
proselytized reams of parody.
instead he tripped my avatar
with truth. soaked my sprinting
ass with petrol and put me firmly
in this easy chair
typing words.
poem
by
Walter Burns
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