This glinted blade engorged in avarice and ‘friendly’ vice,
parting fickle hope in words, frustrating masturbation.
Non-touching toxin, safe advance to woo and then to slice
skin so thin it crumbles under slightest connotation.
To spill your seed on Phoebe’s breast, obey the sacred heart-
pulsing, gorging, make believe you’re drunk upon your ego,
Malignant raging centrepiece, a cock and counterpart
hanging there defunct misfired-re aim your bent torpedo.

Re-jig corruption hewn in fickle sentimental farts
talk in code-Enigma never undermined libido-

these mind games lost in sentience, within the worms do squirm-
judge your stock by cut of jib, not cunts you left bed-sided.
This warfare you create inflicting sex upon your germ
harsh reality, your penance, ignorance misguided.

6 responses to “Toxins

  1. Possibly the most explicit & brazen sonnet I’ve ever read ~ ‘outing’ a multitude of male masturbators from their secret e-caves. Brilliantly put together, Shan ~ a predominantly phallocentric pastime devoid of any ‘other’ (yet undeniably damaging in the extreme) fully exposed. In parts your language is cryptically Thomasesque (Dylan) … & there were shades of Rollinson in there too, which made me chuckle like we did a few weeks ago when I read him ‘out loud’. A mistress piece of poetry & ecriture feminine to boot!

    • Cheers Peter, remembering the tongue in cheek Rollinson spurred me on to the cheekiness absolutely required for this brutal checkered sonnet. Some people say it’s impossible to tell a story in form. How wrong they are! Cheers for popping by

  2. Love this sonnet – a rapacious cock indeed! You have dissected Internet sex mercilessly – I agree with Peter – it put me in mind of Dylan Thomas with the imagery …

Put me out of my misery people!

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