Damn! there goes another poet
off to the land of nonmeter
overstressed about the stresses
made to write outside of rhyme
(though he did it this one time)

Syllables spoken naturally
though in a southern dialect
even when spoken out loud
stressed and unstressed run together
as his head turns into mush

Losing count of all the lines
as he slowly loses his small mind
while sitting in the padded room
trying to write trochaically

Blinding darkness
Only seeing with the naked touch
That sends images to a fevered mind,

Fingers navigate every contour of a physical soul
Pleasure heightens with each new discovery
Of a erogenous zone,

Salty sweet sweat begins to pour
From the heat that rises on the surface of the skin
Breaths of air escape in fevered pitches
As if a beast emerged from somewhere deep,

Eyes now see the beauty of the aura
As conscience is loss of the outside world
And senses flare into universal oneness,