“Art is narcissistic foreplay.” Freud

Stephen Sangirardi   “Art is narcissistic foreplay.”  Freud     Bard715@aol.com
                                                        
Mulling lines of chopped meter into dawn
You barely sleep, and your wife is too tired
To bother. You begin stroking yourself
And in no time you’re as hard as mallet,
Concrete, vulcanized—nostalgic for cunts
That marriage discarded. They pop
Into dreams with their sweet moans distant
 
For dreams are mimetic of the cells we stay.
Instead, you discuss the conjugal muddle
And the fool you were to let her slip away,
This gorgeous Dame come to visit Lefty
Beyond the pale of the warden’s screen.
She leaves with the sound of aubade birds…
Open eyes yearn to know how good a poet you seem.