- Erotic Poetry
- Law and Order
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Law and Order
When it comes to breasts,
I’m a law-and-order guy.
I mean, is there anything more absurd than the violent jut of an acutely distended store-bought tit?
It reminds me of nothing so much as the topography of some foreign shore, like California,
where the hills surge skyward from the Pacific seemingly without logic or provocation.
The handiwork of so-called “cosmetic surgeons,” these abominations appear the product of
some puerile fantasy, a vision plucked from the imagination of an oversexed teenage boy.
They might well be elements of a fine wet dream, but they are not elements of my own.
And I have neither an understanding of nor the patience for the silly twentysomethings who will
commit any act to keep their soon-to-be sagging boobs, and thus their flagging hopes, aloft,
never for a moment considering that they might be trading the sublime for the ridiculous.
Restore the natural order.
Obey the law of gravity.
