I love a man who writes me poetry because I’m narcissistic and I believe in God because of this.
I wish I could hold on long enough to the woman I’ll never know tomorrow yesterday.
The future impairs people because of technology.
It is modernization that makes us feel old.
Right now I’m gargling air in my mouth missing the feel of a penis.
Swirls and swirls of tongue bathe on a suede wand. There is something calm about oral sex.
There is something about letting it all hang out: neurosis, guts and breasts.
A freedom like taking control of your blog and skipping the rhyming of poetry.
The greatest poem ever known
Is one all poets have outgrown:
The poetry, innate, untold
Of being only four years old.
Still young enough to be a part
Of Nature’s great impulsive heart,
Born comrade of bird, beast and tree
And unselfconscious as the bee-
And yet with lovely reason skilled
Each day new paradise to build
Elate explorer of each sense,
Without dismay, without pretense!
In your unstained transparent eyes
There is no conscience, no surprise:
Life’s queer conundrums you accept
Your strange Divinity still kept….
And Life, that sets all things in rhyme,
May make you poet, too, in time-
But there were days, O tender elf,
When you were Poetry itself!
To the child within all of us.