Thirty Miles at Sea

I once met a man from Nantucket
Whose dick was so long he could suck it

Of course…
I am not that man
I met that man

He wiggle-waggles his member
and calls it Principle or
Precedence or
Intellect or Rigor

And yet such dingle-dangling
evinces not but striving
for a rancid beach Club
(And join he must)

It comes for Him too soon
and then it’s too late
for He belongs

I once met a man from Nantucket
Whose dick was so long he could suck it

Of course He couldn’t
There are few who can
Fewer who don’t

They display their sand-chafed distensions
Spray their spiteful apprehensions
And pettiness and grief
And loneliness for relief

And still they find one another:
These! They! The brothers in arms!
Of muscular right hands!
(And shake they must)

They come unto you
Eternally, with hate
Am I not that man?

We live on Nantucket.

[Read “Spilled Blood“]

Glenn Brown

Glenn is a poet living in Brooklyn, NY.

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