Originality

​

 

I just want to ejaculate on a page 

Ripped out of my notebook and call it poetry, 

But Warhol beat me to it.

 

I will regurgitate the mutilated body of 

Virginal escapades 

and arms and fingers. 

 

I promised myself that I could 

Put the knife in without tearing up, 

But here I lay, Bawling. 

 

I have read this before, somewhere. 

As a plagiarist, I take my work 

Wherever I can get It. 

 

I hear them slamming away, 

Wet flesh fingering their squares, 

No better off than me. 

 

And in that moment, 

I saw his testicle fall from his

Underwear onto my forehead.