It’s Getting Late, So Replicate.

in Poetry

Without a top down feed to appease, I’m looking forward to posting at my own pace. No more the hurried whore/bore to an ad hoc tic-tock prompting a ceaseless … what have you done for me lately. Those architects of digital addiction, Vegas schooled in the way of the one-armed bandit, see each post as but a quarter. Chump change maybe, but continuous play is the name of the game. Three likes..JACKPOT. Play again? For Sure.

And Howdy to Duty, a deontological discussion is sure as silicon as to how American “patriots” choose to interface with Facebook.

And now for tonight’s repost.

When I was a little boy growing up in the Old Dominion, years, decades, and at least— three culture shifts ago…there… ladies didn’t seem to cotton up to having their ears pierced. They favored those clip on ear-ring things.

I was fascinated by how a women would remove said ear-ring thing when answering a telephone. Each ladies technique was a bit different, they all had their own style and grace.

I believe this was my very first conscious erotic understanding. And it’s never left me.

After posting yesterday’s NaPoWrMo poem into a private post, a world-class poet from jolly old England suggested— understandably–that there may be a fetish component to the work.

And that’s the sole reason for this post.

Thank you.

Tack Into The Wind

her long legs make me
how her long legs make me
as I watch her heel to
tack into the wind


high heels
on hardwood
floor me

some frames
border fetish
margin call

must lust
rust rigid

dangled shoe
a red herring
after all

Your Eyes

If I favor your leg
are you subject to fetish
when it’s your gait
I’m really queer for

if I amend that to say…
it’s how you carry yourself,
walk the talk.

do I lie, dissemble
or tattle-tale

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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