Watched it on DVD,
thought for a while I was gay;
naked babes everywhere
not one caught my eye
the fake boobs
forced smiles and
plastic faces
were a real turn-off.
Then wham, bam, thank you ma’am
I was hetero for sure
aroused by one with
natural breasts
little makeup
glorious muff
and man, I thought,
I gotta go to that place,
then I learned the sad, hard truth
the real woman was a patron,
not for me, not
a working bunny.
Some people collect Facebook friends
like I once collected postage stamps,
now I’m collecting Facebook invites,
twenty-seven and counting,
each time declining politely
saying I’ve heard of people becoming addicted
and I’m afraid of that,
which is true,
but the greater truth is
my cerebral cortex
is already too cluttered, and
I’m trying to save a little space
for imagination.
I have
no television
no iPod or iPhone
no satellite radio,
nor anything that needlessly occupies
my neurons and synapses.
All I have is
angst
despair
pain
depression
and a penchant
for creating art
understandable
only to those
who need a little day-dreaming
to make it through
one more
day.
*acknowledgment: inspired by the poem “Engulfed” by Alishya Almeida, published in Asphodel Madness.
Wild unstable sluts
get off in stables.
It must be true, at least
that’s what the e-mail claimed,
but I hit delete too quickly,
now I’ll never know for sure,
so I leave it to my imagination
to fill in the details,
dreaming myself, of course,
the stallion.
