The Poet Masturbates

Joan Miró

My teeming passions, 
Must seem like 
Sexual organs, 
Ugly and unwashed.

To own all thoughts alone, 
And sweat as many bodies, 
Must make me appear 
As two hairy appendages.

As the least lonely of men 
I must be in the company 
Of terrifying, big thoughts 
All the time.

Alone in a room 
I count the folds on my palm 
I was born with w/ the left side of my brain 
And the folds I earned from fist fighting 
W/ the right. It stills my mind and ministers 
Order to calmer thoughts, that must still be in me.

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