lap dancin’ poets

poets
cannot be trusted–
give them a few nicely formed words
and the next thing you know they are
sliding into your lap
I can dig it–
a few notes of inspiration
and perspiration
baring my soul, heart,
body, and my mind
to the world–
but when you end up in my face
I find it hard to think straight

hell if I know what
poets are thinking
one day they are crying
and the next they are drooling
over some flower
that popped up in their garden
or the sun rising and falling–
I suppose that is
to throw the rest of us off
in this odd, huge world community
where I can’t even trust
the dangling participles

one good thrust and I am gone again
lost to the wastelands of lust and capitalism
a plot to stop me from writing the words–
the more I write –the better my chance
to become what I wanted
someone that can touch hearts
and make a man wake up
and smell the coffee–

well slap my ass and call me baby
because I am here to stay
and I am not giving up
this quest
for the precipice of words
the ultimate in new worlds
and I invited you into it
I suppose
when I opened that door

but you are in the way of my paper here
so I will write on your skin
connect the freckles and
pen the great novel
down the small of your back
and over the curving hills
of never’land

and when I have
run out of room
I will descend to the Roman columns–
is this more
than just a passing fling
this adventure with the alphabet
a play by play of words on tap–
tapping that
and stamping my name on it

you marauded my space
and I have to work
around you and on you
in order to get all the words down–
and when this goes viral–
will readers be licking the pages
for my lavish use of onomatopoeia
or tilting their heads

with prose underneath
the mighty metaphor
making do with the articles
you left me with
the pronouns you shoved down my throat
when I turned my head quickly–
gagging and choking on them–don’t stop
now that you have my attention

for I don’t know how it ends
before the cigarette and brandy
anything you have handy
your lap is warm
and mine is like candy–
does it take more than just a word
to spark up one well placed verb
on top of your paragraph
to make it stand at attention-
to round it off–

I say to you, then
that I will keep scribbling
if I have to pen it across your face
but when I write
to a writer
it makes me lose my place–
and if you want me to keep writing
you’re going to have to stop poking me
because I
can’t
think
straight

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