Poetry

For a good road map you need 
whistling words and biting 
flies of porn videos. 
 
You go overboard when you 
see a virgin falling from 
podium of a hundred smiles. 
 
Sitting in skin only who wants 
a tattoo of a butterfly, when 
the book goes for a sale? 
 
Gettysburg water for the joints. 
Do you need some of it when 
the economy has pored off the poems? 
 
A courtesan becomes the bride 
of the city. The grooms were many 
but no body wants to sit on a mare.