poem:
Canine
borderline crossing
malamute trots to the approaching baby carriage
Marmalukes watch with dispassion
as a young bride canters
with her load
"what's the point of comparing mastoid scars"
the dog says to the tribesmen
"do you not care how we adapt?"
the Marmaluke says to the doggie
"I care, I care completely"
snatching the baby in it's teeth
We all know each other, maybe too well, but we're all enough in the know, enough liberated from convention, to be open and honest about urinary tract issues. It's not syph or gonorrhea. That's dripping and burning, then you're mind goes to shit. Ask Al Capone. He ended up fishing for manatees in a chlorinated swimming pool. At least he had one. Syph gives you unwanted lawn ornaments in your bad zone.
I haven't been dripping, and I almost wish that were the case. This is about peeing, in common language. It's like I'm storing old furniture in my dick. It would be a rare pleasure to consult a physician, but most of them these days are crooks. Ask a doctor what's happening 'down there' and he might put it down to a new strain of covid, a dirty fucking bastard strain. Then they cut your dick off, because you're not in their network. They need it for research, you don't need it because it's a fulminating warehouse catastrophe in there, loaded with shopworn suits and sweaters. It's like pissing out a three piece Harris tweed suit.
I choose to live with this thing of mine. If I gots it, other dudes and dudettes gots it too. They're shy. Some of them. The rest will whip it out and show it to you, on request. To everything, a crime and a sore piss. I show it to people I don't know from Adam. The advice I'm getting is all aces. One kind Samaritan told me to jam a blade straight into the bush. Says he did it, and it worked perfect. What do you think I should do about LJP, or 'log jam penis?'
I don't really store furniture up Larry Johnson. The problem was a minor irritation at the tip, probably from wearing the same duds three days in a row, 24/7. Why pile up dirty clothes when you're staying home, 24/7? Bad question. A guy could get an intense flood of unwanted sensation when pissing. It's all better now.
I read popular med science articles, and there's all sorts of things that go wrong in the danger zone. Scar tissue can interfere with the waterworks, urinary tract infections are ubiquitous and painful, and our dear pal syphilis is a famous genital marauder. But we are poets. Artists. We value concepts more so than tactics. And we are able to think in the abstract, unlike so many stupid jerks we've all had to tolerate. It can be as if there was furniture up the urethra. If it's a total blockage, you may be keeping weathered old couches from Furniture Warehouse. Those bastards went out of business a long time ago, and their heavy, tacky desks and bed frames fill self storage units now and probably for ever. I'd like to talk about a condition called Hepplewhite Penis.
This is when you have a priceless antique ladder back chair in the pipe. You can piss, but not so easily. That is because your urine stream has to cut corners and pass cautiously between the rungs. It can hurt, and there's dripping, like water torture. Wear clean underwear. Fucking near anything can happen, 'down there.'
