Poem #66

Like a chest-height transvestite

I keep low but dress tight;

No respite when I rewrite

My freeflow from last night-

I’m a gaslight to a mineshaft,

I’m Blackdamp to a windpipe,

Squawk Canary Wharf

Round a circuit board

‘Til you withdraw

Your E-vite;

Sangfroid through Freudian slips

That I pitch low through a split lip,

I say callipygian instead of thicc

Because pentasyllables sound slick.

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