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Usual constraints, sway
As a naïve believer
Write when sad or angry, say, if you enjoy
After falling back to listen to Dinah Washington voice
I confess a choice of empathy about being mad about a boy
At this age, a voice from the fifties, after years of my celibacy
As a naturally promiscuous but faithful to one at a time,
Confessing all infidelities and invite to all ménages type of man, when married,
I understand some women mad about boys, punishing their partners
By their inability to let them fuck the young cock,
Invite their partner to assist or participate actively,
Present himself personally or remotely by any modern means...
Or keep it to her (lone?) selves...
As a naïve believer,
My creed is most would communicate if possible,
And feel sorry for such women or men,
That there are still many of both,
Who cannot share their libido with their partners
So sad, it brings pain to both subjects, family, friends
Suppose, this time, I am hungry writing,
Mad with myself for denying myself sex as communion
And companionship,
Staying on quick creative masturbation is misbehaving.
Staying home but not by circumstances, not choice
And neither books nor digital media are good company,
In solitaire there is desire but not the satisfaction one admires
This is not a satire,
More of a parabolic confession
Or a mind regression
You decide, I’m not giving a shit
I’m a fool to live as I actually do
And have nothing more to ado
Women please pick your boys
Tear them into tired happy jalopies...
Don’t bother with hypothetical jealousies
So as I say, forget the sad example, if true
Maybe some full moon I came out in the blue...
To give someone deserving some of my expertise,
Familiarize with, listen, laugh... be humble
Although the empathy is real, I know that stand in a bed of nails
Failed the Fakir course, and the blood taints everything
So no living soul will offer voluntarily to me
As others decisions strike and slain my initiative
Before I even form the process, by data analysis based prediction
And no valediction
No fast pace
Will free my desire from the asphyxiating embrace
Of things I ought to accomplish
Of means I refuse, tools I’ll never use.
No path, no pier, no fugue, no muse.
Only and endless inconsiderate abuse
So you (that, happily for me) are free to act under the usual constraints
Ignore them, give them all you know you may
And the more you have within, sway
Expand your life, heart, orgasm,
Don’t chasm, be blank or breach,
Reach higher, be brighter
