A progressive bartering

Or: The famine of love letters

Every man is the last on earth
and has given away his passion,
and feels a pleurisy of infection
bridge his tonsils to his toes
to his inner workings to his nose
to his ears, feels his dinner disappear,
has lost what made him buck
against, tensed there, like the mare,
the force that urged him fuck.

Every man has sold the deed
of the house atop his kidneys,
friendliest of termite friends
that between glib amends
manmade and offered freely
looks like forfeiture, instead is robbery,
as every man has peddled his passion
as though he could usurp the bastion
exiled in the army he calls Me.

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~ by Jeremy on January 4, 2011.

2 Responses to “A progressive bartering”

  1. Last four lines are the strongest – nice, unforced rhyme, rhythm and a surprising end.

    Curious where this is going.

  2. I consider it finished. A diddy about artistic indifference and malformed egoism, not the good kind, after I spoke to a friend who was having thoughts about the subject. Finally, FINALLY, she thinks people are as lazy as I think they are.

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