In a happy marriage, the sex can just happen,
But with lovers it has to be endlessly negotiated and arranged;
I’m over that. If you want to know the truth,
I slept with you because I wanted to find out if a poet was more than just a penis,
And I found out that a poet is just a penis; so, goodbye.
I don’t care now much poetry you write, you’re just a penis.
Go write your heart-broken poems so you can be a famous penis; I really don’t care.
Sometimes it’s annoying how simple the answers are.
A discord needs resolving, a cat needs to drink,
The weather is kind in a sunny, naive way,
And, wondering how much human speech my cat understands,
I think: how happy to live on that sub-linguistic level
Where all that matters is you are satiate after you drink.
I’m sick of all these thirsty woody allens.
And don’t get me started on cunts!
Go work on a construction site if you fancy that, or sprinkle rose water
On your cunt or something. But just leave me alone!
I’m going to try monogamy; monogamy, monogamy, so uncool,
But isn’t that what everybody secretly wants (and hardly ever gets)?
First, God, the law-giver, second, the husband (who you sleep with) and third, your friends.
What’s wrong with that? Do you think I want to make laws?
Everything got turned upside down. I thought I was God
Because I slept with my friends.
And that confused me a bit, you know, when I believed I was God.
I felt like God. You should have seen how they behaved when I walked by.
Take my hand, jealous, tortured, shit-faced, husband.
Tomorrow, maybe, it will just happen in the dark
And then I will get up and feed the cat, as usual.
Oh, won’t I be happy?
I won’t worship anybody but God,
Who makes the sunny, simple afternoons,
Who makes the darkness (good on God for that!)
And lets me satiate myself, naively.