Freudian Finger

You ask me how it is to be alone,
I’ve tried to keep myself at home
I’d blame the vultures, but they know
it’s me

There’s a digit that beckons “come along”
Luring me with crafted prose or song
But I can’t utter “so long”
it’s not me

Scanning the inked dermis in italics
My heart gets all dazzly metallic
deciphering the phrases in phallic
speaking to me

Reading between the loins
I get the message where the legs join
and that Freudian finger points
at me

I am a geysering ink well
Sir, you speak, I spell
Sharpen up the quill
you’ll see

There are stories in my folds
And empty pages to behold
Etch what you want told
on me

We are not so alienated
when skin slipped syllables are sated
living dreams read aloud, dissertated
with we

Published in: on February 23, 2013 at 3:59 am  Comments (2)  
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