Maren - Poem by Carl A.I.
through pocket pussies
and develish dildos
right across the street from Sugarhouse Park.
My fish is fat
and bloated dead
floating on the surface
of the pure, clean, yellowish-blue
The Fred Meyer bums,
old war veterans
don't know pain like I know pain today.
The early fall cold pricks me
like accupuncture needles.
I know this means the end of life in many forms,
but I live on looking at the rubber erotica.
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