Paul E Sexton, Poetry


Meeting Notes

Puerile corpo-fascist drivel,
flowing unfettered into my life like
ugly-bad pisswater.
I find Islowly die,
in the head then
my heart shrivels like
sweaty balls already removed,

Why must I
endure these suffocating situations
sitting repeatedly, ass cheeks clinched,
tongue bitten down on hard, suppressing
a scream?

I am neither poet
chasing immortality
nor lover of sweet Sophie
engaged with mythic journey
becoming something more.My
life as father, less than nothing
in this room.

In a callous sub-culture
devoid of spiritual sustenance,
a corporate culture, I am a very
small sad piece of dog shit, sitting
solitary, in a room, surrounded by the
dead and dying growing always smaller,
passing time.