Little Pink Bra (no more illusions) by Carvin Wallson
Little Pink Bra, Under a button-up so that I can see inside from the flank. Young (er than I but how much is too?)and I think about whether it's weird this, Wonder whether I'm too old altogether or whether the building up from so much self-denial is now
causing me to lose all sanity, morality and sense of charity I thought I once held--is this torture or am I building towards a future of intellectual and spiritual bliss?
Too old for this kids' stuff and too old for these kids, but I write in the margins that I'm still a party animal, still the one who can act like he's five and drink like he's been downing and drowning from five to fifty
Is this still an experiment?
Now that I went off on this tangent, keeping with the will of doing things on a whim, I have now returned here, to a place where I've never been except in the future circle of when I return again.
Mostly my writing is careful, a first draft that's perfect, and now I realize that I'm been going crazy with perfection and have only reached the hem of the garmet now
that I keep other's thoughts to myself and give them my fantasies--of perfect breasts, plump behinds and faces to paint--for I can no longer use them, they only torture me.