Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye, Tantalised all inner thought, Shocked from unknown angles; Sold me, told me cold, Unfolded, moulded; Shouldered any harbouring Of empty morals. You spun me round; undressed - Pestered me with background riddle - Piffle came to gleaning meaning. And you stripped out prejudice - for none Must exist in poetry, Lest you close up an open mind And f**k up as reader; Lest your heart is not a bleeder - It has to be - let it flush out Upon your sleeve. You lay apart my thinking brain And let in the literary pickings of a Great poetic phallus. Yes, poetry can be callous. Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010 poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry poetry