- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Something Beautiful
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the ravens mock my reflection
flickering black eyes parsing,
impulse, picking with black beaks
in a way, I nurture their existence.
to a form, I provide that small fox
to be swarmed and gouged by sharp
black, crimson stained beaks. born
in thought, therefore I am, reluctantly
giving sustenance to shit with wings,
not what they want, evoke what I will.
ash and sinewy tendons in their gullets,
sorry, no jack off poetry for those
beady black eyes, always critical
no mealy-mouthed cadaverous
love of my life for those beaks
always picking. the fetid smell of
a cheap whore’s perfume and the
feel of ripped, sagging labial rings,
strung out like torn condoms. they
can pick and wretch, they can mock
my pathways, and they will choke
on something beautiful that cannot
be
devoured.
