A Dirty Old Man - Poem by James McLain
Always a bun in the oven.
Swollen and fat it is dripping.
Puffed out the smile triggers a reflex
about or around often of.
The button I pull sucking I push deeply in.
Whispers I hear above the clear face
The moon sits high in the sky it is open.
Knowing that people are their to watch
the pain form as it stretches.
Watching you dream on the wall street walkers.
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