Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind’s eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed –
Pestered me with background riddle –
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice – for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder –
It has to be – let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.

Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010

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