The new issue of the poetry magazine arrived in the mail today. The very first page

I opened was an ode to licking arses. Not figuratively.

I sat there overwhelmed and intrigued. I let the idea wash over me

and wondered Рwhat would Neruda think?  Or Byron?

Of this.

This ode to passion that sings of faeces eating.


Untitled #4

You don’t like easy

You have a natural proclivity for drama

impossible relationships which

you dream up

with a feverish mind

and know somehow are