- Erotic Poetry
- Jackson Pollock Fucking
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Click hereI remember that.
Jackson Pollock fucking,
canvas on the floor and paint slung from a dripping brush.
But art? Artistry?
no, just a portrait of the artist as a young man.
Bon appétit and bone marrow.
A match, mistaken for the Chicago Fire,
held till the fingers burn
and my tongue, your fire engine,
so easily satisfied with so little,
for the need is so great.
Sip and sip again,
hold this wine on the tongue,
pressed to palate, to escape down your throat,
drop by drop. The bottle is deep,
not yet tipped half way,
mistake not absence of hunger for satisfaction.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 9 years agoGood stuff, Bronzeage. You have a good ear. Major and necessary tool for a poet.
driphoneyalmost 14 years agoI like Pollock, but I think, if I read this right, I agree. I'm a bit slow when reading most poetry, however, I enjoyed having to stop and ponder the meaning of your lines. Just because we like something, doesn't mean that it's more than it is. A little pleasure is not the same as deep satisfaction, but sometimes we settle. :)
