September 17th, 2011


Hard to know whom this poem will offend most


I still have most of you. They changed your shape
Carved you and stitched you. Threw away my balls
but when – as happens – someone hostile calls
what I chose mutilation, madness, rape,

I think unfondly of you. You'd go hard
when I was feeling tender, and would squirt
grey gunge like an eruption of wet dirt.
With you love sex and gentleness were marred.

Yet now your strength gives tightness to each fuck.
Your thrilling nerves are rolled into a bud
that throbs. You still draw in a tide of blood
I hear it roar and ebb and feel it suck

gentle and overwhelming as the sea.
You're gone, but are still there, a part of me