Poem: Candlewax

I’m jacking off in a latticed waffle pattern

prison window light, scolded and sunken,

I write about reality, make it a legend

of virility, I’ve had sex and my penis is perfect

admittedly, it curves pleasantly and heaves

occasionally with passion heft and dignity,

unless it’s fatigued, inaction sickness

prescribes pornography, only a temporary

animated opiate, take two and call me again

in the morning, you useless husk, dry cracking

skin at the edges, my girlfriend

passes out sometimes, drunk on vodka

I provide with my accident, not satisfaction.

 

Drizzle on me sizzle, weeping I’ll be

in a magma puddle, straining my mind

and spirit both, so I’ve nothing more,

I wish that I had an explanation

for myself, call it an excuse if you want

but I beg no pardon, my bare back

under lash pleading punishment, something

tangible with a lesson I could take,

at face value, a simple hobbling

like I had once, correcting an arrogant

streak I selfsame felt, like I’d get laid right

quick, not years later in a fumbling

drunken mess, of which I was

the villain, getting fat on pop tarts

and white bread ham sandwiches.

 

So in a way I was rescued, and rescuer

it seems, so today together acting,

we will achieve greatness, standing as mine

a chaos emerald, beautiful and lovely

though tortured and blind at the same time,

moving in waves of motion fluid

surging up over, learning the patterns

of each other, we live in greater harmony

and love expanding exponentially

with the in between time, not wasted

space, smooth setting a place

for us to sit, watching the flame move

downwards, staying constant sloughing

material off, to the sides in ripples.

Poem: Candlewax

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