Soul Searching Poets

Im sick of soul searching poets, how they lost their art for a dollar bill.

I'm just thinking of old men with no college degrees, putting rims on your car for a dollar still.

And your art's transformed into pornography?

Why? Because they put it next to the ad for viagra?

By the way, what's wrong with pornography?

You appeal to higher emoticons?

You are too good for lust?

"Into my pussy, he thrust.

And as he went in, I adjusted.

Into me, his nut, he busted.

I orgasmed twice, but wanted a third.

With my hand, I jiggled his bird.

Then I took it in my mouth.

But things only went south.

His dick shrunk in my lips.

But I put a finger in my pussy, and moved my hips.

Came again and fell asleep."

Or are you too deep?

You want to teach the world a lesson?

Are not the dreams of some perverted man a lecture in history?

Does a pinch of desire corrupt the dish of truth?

Or does it add some spice?

But none of this matters.

You're not finding yourself.

You're complaining to me, and I don't want to hear it.

We may have lost Hemingway.

But he never told us we did.

We just kind of figured it out.

Remember, you're making a puzzle.

You need to separate the pieces.