Feed on

Yesterday I saw an It
that cursed my sight and gave me fits
this It I could not tie in with
anything come before It
I may even admit that this It
was too illegit to quit
a man’s face It had
(formless chin to brow)
a man’s shoulders It had
(sloping to a bow)
even a man’s hands It had
(hard work they disavowed)
but the strangeness that would occupy
my thoughts till morning cleared my mind
was the shorts It wore
mid-thigh, no more
but tight around
the middle mound
except there weren’t
no middle mound
where legs did fork
you’d expect to note
a roll of pork
not an empty boat
the material gathered
into telltale bunches
of wrinkles and creases
that supported hunches
Its member was tucked
deep in asscrack behind
or queasier still
had untethered the pine
and showcased so proud
to an audience, astound
a missing link
a disorienting cline
where once was a peen
there now was a gine

(poem inspired by real life spectacle)

(ps fuck this gay america)


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