No More Joy

Tongues both trap and free
yapping barriers to deeper understanding
and imprisonment
little red waggling friends
who lick, cleanse and please
but often miss the mark, dirty
and disappoint
like premature ejaculate on a sad lover’s belly
words, words, worlds of words
dripping and dicking upon deafly ignorant ears
too often creating confusion, wonder
bouts of tangled misery, entrenched
beyond logical relevancy
in the ways it befriends, bottoms or tops
the targeted other of la-la-la-lovely
grotesqueries of unenlightened legs
akimbo – reveling in glottal joylessness
for the lingual dance of a thousand cannibals
in sunshine and moonlight and dusky netherness
whoever bought in bought out
in single-minded terror
to the telly extravaganza
that is
your mute body


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