Poets and Whores

I was a virgin until I was twenty-four.

How I wish I were a whore-

as I would have been called by the one who reared me.


Back then I was of the belief

that carnal pleasures would bring me grief-

for I would incur the wrath

of a god created

by a religion

for which I never fully subscribed.


But I see now.  I see

that we were not meant to be


Saints belong to heaven.

Earth is for God

and mortals.


And on earth there must also be

love and kindness and decency-

and all those things that have nothing to do with

doctrine and dogma and institutions

institutes, expectations, traditions,

teams and clubs

all those things

which the good people of this world



This place

this life

is for those who are brave enough to be free

of the tedious monotony

of fitting in

of bridling the spirit

and crushing the soul.


Here’s to the poets, the misfits, the lovers, the brave

the fearless who live this life with compassion and God

and know–

when the world becomes as small as the crate you’ll be buried in,

you’re as good as dead.

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