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Louis Phillips

Rent This Poem


Why shd any reader

Be burdened by a mortgage

That will be sold & resold

Many times over?


Rent this poem,

Free yourself from dead weight,

Constant upkeep of lines,

Many written in haste,


Then forgotten at leisure.

Recite Poetry’s motto:

Property is theft!

Leave the plumbing to me.



Winter hovers over my city,
A grievance

That refuses to be settled,

While old men.

Women too, I imagine,

Regret not being younger. Plenty

Of grievances myself. Mama, why

Was I such a good boy?

Why didn’t I,

Top-heavy with morals,

Upend the universe,

Walking a fine line between hi-


Jinks & a career in crime?

Blunt javelins

To the stomach

Of respectability!

Jesus! I shd have learned

To dance. Why did I bang the drum


Of Reason, doing what I was told,

Earning high grades,

When everyone else

Was upended in free fall,

Freshening pubic hairs,

Getting laid, drunk, soiled



      Be experience. Why didn’t I,

      Just once, spin

      Completely out of control?

      Rosary me no rosaries,

      Grace me no grace.

      End the edge of a blunt sky,


      Allow me this one time

      To be myself,

      Free my imagination,

      To kick a large hole

      In the stained glass of creation.

Sex Before Breakfast

I am standing in a field

Before breakfast &

Already the sex mad Japanese beetles

Are at it, one on top of the other,

So that I cannot even look

A raspberry bush in the face.

So this is how my day begins.

With me risking life & limb

To bring home a handful

Of raspberries. They sell for

$5.00 a pint in the city, &

I have just wrecked my

$20.00 pair of blue jeans,

My arms are covered with scratches, &

I know I that I am going to be bit

By a copperhead or a Lyme tick

& die. Such heroism!

And all for what? A few berries.

Shall I say it has been worth it?

Why not? Why shd  the rich

Have all the good things of life?

Back in the cabin,

An unseen hand has placed

Haydn's Concerto No. l in C Major

For Violin and String Orchestra

On the record player,

But I can't get

The Japanese Beetles out if my mind,

Their opera bouffa of copulation,

Why can't I be more like them?

I drop the raspberries to the table, &

Talk  my wife back into bed,

Thinking of "double stops, big skips,

Fast runs, and

Melodies in the higher register."

rent this
sex before
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