Poem 542

About as much fun to be had here as a sex ed chat with St. Augustine (or Sigmund Freud) … loaded down with anxiety the idea was to trace a less told but equally true story …

( I enjoy the word execrable and the image of the magnets – as a kid I was always more fascinated with the pole-reversed pushing away force of magnetism than the attraction of opposites … )

Blue Balls

I'm fidgety
got that feeling again
sex
        Hôtel Sex
with the execrable room service
          I always knew what it was
          made big ugly boys
          knock things over
the galloping disease of the nerves
wiggling in all the fingers
a furious blush studded with blackheads
whiteheads angry red lumps
the works
            the two backed beast
            magnets with wrong ends
            repelling each other
pubertal years spent grappling
in the soft inner mouth of the constrictor
with hard overripe compulsions
you swallow down
swallow down
           until in the deep one night
           counters all hit zero
           the late
           late non-show
           where she'll do it for a song
           and you've mysteriously
lost your voice