Thursday, April 14, 2016


For Pantagruel

When there ceases to be ballocks
In the world, or any other 
Appurtenances for the fitness
Of forever dividing flesh,

Then the flesh itself will become
Holy, rare, and irrelevant
To the messengers in the air
Who once depended on living,

The way humans once had horses
To carry and drag them around
Then no longer needed to breed
Them except as nostalgic pets

And expensive toys to bet on.
Thus ran the official answer
To the unofficial question,
When will we cease to suffer lust?

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