I wanted a watch,
a penis-watch,
to measure the times
(how many times and more)
of my healthy erections,
Which are a lot
less, than I thought
years ago,
when I was twenty and there was
no penis-watch and
no disco
or just some disco,
and everybody was pushing
like manituana
at the exit line like
monkeys one on top of
the other, and back too,
that we love it
(the back).
And now they made it!
A crumpled turned moulded
accappella-penis-watch.
And the more I look at it,
even through it,
(can you believe
I can see through it?)
I am not so sure
I am going to want &
wear &
come it anymore.
I know it would tell me to run more
and smoke less.
To wear better-best
and drink less.
To pump up
and sleep less. To:
spray me with shininess,
and hide less.
But is more that I want, you see?
This babbling penis-watch
is no watch for me. I am going back.
Cueing,
rolling,
pawing, ‘nd jamming.