It is common, I assume
To hit the bed, but instead
Of slumber, find plunder
Wonder when (if) it will resume

Could be easy to engender
Meandering plight for slight
Or itch for a… stitch
I know now why we surrender

It’s all so quietly entombed
Through the screen we gleam
Images played, freshly bathed,
Oiled, powdered, perfumed

Rage to be a contender
Said he worked for it, forked
The path, wrung friction bath
Either way I’m an offender

So shudder and boom
Slip the knot, no gut forgot
We all know the fall
Shed those layers of womb

Some moments pretended
Vigorous scrub the spotless nub
Immaculate, self-undulate
Wouldn’t it be splendid?

Peal off the costume
Ritual begun, arm the gun
Thoughts provoked, thus choked
Perhaps, should not presume

No matter what I intend
No joy, “It’s a boy!”
It’s a story without glory
Feel it slowly descend

Starchy oblivion exhume
Clear cobwebs, roomy ebbs
For some do… come
Sleep, so (if) life can resume

RMKS, April 27, 2005