A plausibly, impossible wedgie.
When will I be free of this wad?
A daring creep;
an aimless shrink;
cutting circulation;
imbalance of hug and weep.
Take a stick and shove it. I say!
Groove throbbing, it doesn’t budge.
Internal groaning of my own
moves in for a neurological punch.
PopSwoosh! Miss.
Almost home now.
Trash these and then,
no more pants.
Again.
2 thoughts on "A plausibly, impossible wedgie."
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There’s poetry in everything. Really enjoyed it.
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light
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