Untitled…

The getting is gotten,
While your soul goes rotten,
Working the words,
To travel the worlds,
Flowing from your finger tips
Flowing from the tip of your tongue.
Tips tip the jar
And money flows near and far,
Not fearing what the grasshopper fears
But spending for years
In a day.
Traveling away
From your problems, booking
While looking
For the trip of the lifetime
With love for a lifeline
Until you get the fix
Of the mix
Of sex, age, chemistry and zen,
In a den
Of Iniquity,
Or was it men of antiquity
That had the need
to feed
the ego of their soul, body, and mind
From multiple finds
Across the globe and traveling those great
Circles that allow you to mate
In record time.
There’s a compunction
For Unction
And pushing the limit
In’it?
There’s the white spot on your soul
That can hide the God-hole
From those that look at you with abandon
Not realizing they are handin’
Over life on depth mistaken,
Because you’re faking
And they see the wild
Child
And not the fearful, fretful,
Regretful

You, because, Fuck, while that was fun,
it probably wasn’t a good idea, that one

Lying on the cold tile,
While

Trying not to have your stomach be as empty
As the rest of you.

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Erik K.

Owner, Curator, Writer of this blog.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Someone say something.