Naked in America (redux)

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Part 2 of the 2 part series

Updated 03/14/2021
Created 07/25/2004
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We stand together, naked in America,
unclothed under these undulating stars,
eager, bared and filled with anticipation
under a menstrual, cycling moon that is
ripened blood red, a round Georgia peach,
and the planets all line up like pumpkins.

Or maybe the moon has now plunged
beneath the hushed, phallic cornfields
that burgeon in the black dirt of Iowa,
and here in the silent universe exposes
the pierced jewels and pearl necklace of
an ejaculated galaxy’s erotic explosion.

Or if you are captured on a Carolina coast,
stripped naked by the language beneath
the unblinking eye of the voyeur moon,
then a soft breeze arouses your passion,
and as a moan escapes your parted lips
that staring bastard breaks into a sweat.

And somewhere on a green shore in Oregon
she is standing exposed in a misting rain,
enraptured by the rivulets running wet
and tumbling down her trembling belly.
She goes home, and in the candle’s glow
she describes how moist it makes her feel.

And somewhere out there in America
there is a wickedly talented poetess
who stands on the eve of a threshold
that projects her verse up and out
and arcing like a rainbow of colors,
and I know she is naked and in touch.

So this is how I see it, naked in America,
as we pleasure ourselves and others.
Our precious liberties free us to pursue
the justice of our lust for literotica,
as I stand nude beneath a washed out sky,
deep in the hard heart of horny Texas.

We stand together, naked in America,
unclothed under these undulating stars,
eager, bared and filled with anticipation
under a menstrual, cycling moon that is
ripened blood red, a round Georgia peach,
and the planets all line up like pumpkins.

Or maybe the moon has now plunged
beneath the hushed, phallic cornfields
that burgeon in the black dirt of Iowa,
and here in the silent universe exposes
the pierced jewels and pearl necklace of
an ejaculated galaxy’s erotic explosion.

Or if you are captured on a Carolina coast,
stripped naked by the language beneath
the unblinking eye of the voyeur moon,
then a soft breeze arouses your passion,
and as a moan escapes your parted lips
that staring bastard breaks into a sweat.

And somewhere on a green shore in Oregon
she is standing exposed in a misting rain,
enraptured by the rivulets running wet
and tumbling down her trembling belly.
She goes home, and in the candle’s glow
she describes how moist it makes her feel.

And somewhere out there in America
there is a wickedly talented poetess
who stands on the eve of a threshold
that projects her verse up and out
and arcing like a rainbow of colors,
and I know she is naked and in touch.

So this is how I see it, naked in America,
as we pleasure ourselves and others.
Our precious liberties free us to pursue
the justice of our lust for literotica,
as I stand nude beneath a washed out sky,
deep in the hard heart of horny Texas.

We stand together, naked in America,
unclothed under these undulating stars,
eager, bared and filled with anticipation
under a menstrual, cycling moon that is
ripened blood red, a round Georgia peach,
and the planets all line up like pumpkins.

Or maybe the moon has now plunged
beneath the hushed, phallic cornfields
that burgeon in the black dirt of Iowa,
and here in the silent universe exposes
the pierced jewels and pearl necklace of
an ejaculated galaxy’s erotic explosion.

Or if you are captured on a Carolina coast,
stripped naked by the language beneath
the unblinking eye of the voyeur moon,
then a soft breeze arouses your passion,
and as a moan escapes your parted lips
that staring bastard breaks into a sweat.

And somewhere on a green shore in Oregon
she is standing exposed in a misting rain,
enraptured by the rivulets running wet
and tumbling down her trembling belly.
She goes home, and in the candle’s glow
she describes how moist it makes her feel.

And somewhere out there in America
there is a wickedly talented poetess
who stands on the eve of a threshold
that projects her verse up and out
and arcing like a rainbow of colors,
and I know she is naked and in touch.

So this is how I see it, naked in America,
as we pleasure ourselves and others.
Our precious liberties free us to pursue
the justice of our lust for literotica,
as I stand nude beneath a washed out sky,
deep in the hard heart of horny Texas.


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1 Comments
WickedEveWickedEveover 19 years ago
there are 3 of them

Yes, I noticed that. lol You have huge spaces and 3 of the same poem. It may be a mistake or it could mean something. Does it mean something? Well, once I ignore the boo boos, the poem is dynamite. I'm late reading the new poems and I'm surprised... no, I'm shocked that this doesn't have any comments.

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