a poem for today, 16 November 2012

a poem for today, 16 November 2012
[a word-sorted sonnet of seventeen sentences and its image]

The weak can never forgive.
We're not horny; we're married.
Neither applies or both apply.
I won't wear these chains.
Our readership is vividly average.
I'm worth a million in prizes.
All my internal organs are female.
Here we are right here, inverted.
Taking comfort in irony is privilege.
She will say the word and vanish.
You're what I'd call a pity fuck.
I know that I’m better than that.
Don't be a drag, just be a queen.
Does looking at you count as sex work.
Especially this one.
They don't know it, but they are doing it.
Scat is nasty.

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