Sex Place
High on a hill above the clouds a black rock outcropping held heat into the night. Primitives collected here when the sun redded the water and sky. It became a site of automatic sex. Loud fleshheated sexmoan-spirited calls echo down the hill. Perking more skin than ears.
We Boys Live
A boy is born out of his own body. It is the balls burst thru the abdomen floor that marks the male. The response from birth acts. If not from mama's squeeze, then from another human certified. Ripeing the boy for life.
That slow beast hangs and answers wet in a genius year (11). Happy time we find. The pinnacle act from the first skin touch of another. A hairy answer that scratches us all as we boys learn. So infected with purpose, we live. A man is history.
Release
One man had not pissed all day. Sun and heat and adventure. Processed his product. When a camp was circled, he would find a near place. And piss real slow thru his long erection. Marking the place for others to release. No hurry. They came slowly. And pissed and played. And came and went. Ceremony is baptized. Holy water. Mans' signature. Wet us back to the odor we trust.
Music Created
A crazed man roamed the streets. Naked. Playing with his dick. The iron rings on it made a rhythm that others heard from laydown places. Following forward, clank driven, the denominator of man. By some he was discovered thru time as the young prince. Touching his charge, he is entertained in wait for heritage.
