Modern Art

After seeing the satyrs in the Cadillac, I hailed
a cab: Gold’s Gym, pretty please, and step
lively. So, can one still be a man and take step
classes? I grunt at the pec-deck; I am hailed
 
by the neckless as the queen
of a raunchy country. (It’s a myth,
btw, the size of my Nikes.) Fuck myth:
give me a man, some hot ghastly queen,
 
any day—now. If I shave
my chest and my yes and my happiness,
will I find someone, some happiness?
Just as I start to peak, I’ll shave
 
my head, instead (think Full Metal Jacket).
And throw on a cultish animal jacket.
 

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