In addition to writing about famous dead people (pick up your copy of THE BLACKENED BLUES, here!) I’ve channeled more than a little energy the last few years into deconstructing toxic masculinity. This is an appropriately short and to-the-point poem about our least favorite dudes: the ones ill-equipped (in so many ways) to feel or create pleasure. Big love to MAYDAY Magazine for publishing this one, and always remember to support your independent literary mags & journals.
Karma Sutra
Let us pray toxic males get reincarnated
as the clitorises they could never find—
That third rail buzzing, practically begging
for something to touch it, make it explode.
