I set out to write a little poem
But ended with the truth instead

No death and no orgasms
No striking revelations, reversals, or denouements
No shit, fucking, damn, whop, nigger, fag, whore, damnation, sex, or god is dead
To stir your panties with salacious indignation

Leave it to an art school graduate
To labor over something with no market value
And not have the sense to leave it at the bottom of a drawer
Or at the bottom of the sea, where it belongs


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