Brake for the Poet's Moon

 
They're sexy alright
naked cliches wiggling onto the page
with the allure of an aging stripper
before you get close
and the flaws show up
mincemeating reality with a whisper of

'Honey,
it's all been done before.'

But you knew that anyway
that poets are mostly whores
So that mustn't be the reason
you're here--
perhaps this page
needs you too

A smirk as you catch her stockings
your favorites
white or black
or blue
Then reluctant panties
from the trophy drawer of memories
you always kept locked
because your heart's still ragged
and the stain still
bleeds

You ought to know by now
poetry this way means pain
but when she moans
your pussycat relaxes by the fire  
willing her fingers to explore
until hope morphs into a worm
and you burn

She's just the same ol' bitch
rock and roll naked
strutting her stuff in public
hungry for a buck
arching her back and thrusting her hips
tongue all wet in your ear

So it's best to keep
one eye on the keyboard
lest she goes crazy
takes over completely
and carves out a chunk from your soul

It's something no amount of moonlight
or lingerie
can change