Perchance to Sing

Weary world upon my shoulders.
Blind to the bliss beyond my eyes
Holding to pain of the ages
Wonder why I’m not made wise
Harshness rubs me ever sadly older
Owning all the world is no grand prize
 *
 *
I want to be hot, dank nights
crawling to the microphone
I want to be lusty red lips
mouthing sex
I want to be the static in the air,
the ringing of the telephone
I want to be the power behind
the hex
I want to be you when you’re young
without rules, no future game imagined
to disrupt the play
I want to be the song when it’s sung
drifting into orgasmic space
as the notes drift away
so much better than this.
.
.
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