MONOG.

For Dr. Issac Powell, my urologist.

 

 

 

So that's it?

That's the sensation,

to be taken anally with

the ring finger of a

deamon?

No prostate flower in my ear.

No kiss on the back of my neck.

Little or no embrace.

Just lay on my side,

facing downstream

cooing like the monk seals.

Shame,

in my cotton linen

bustiers.

Compare me,

I ask, to the others.

I mean, how did it

feel to you?

"Get dressed Mr. Rushin,

Your fine."

Reviews

[Pete Langley]

I love this piece, sir. I have been there twice and the experience does not improve, but the telling of it is well worth the read. Well done. P.

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

one of the many reasons I cannot be a doctor..I cannot go between the waist and knees of strangers
so many invasive procedures that can be diagnosed in better ways
I had a hand shoved up my a*s at age ten or twelve or god knows f*****g when because of a chronic upset stomach I'd had since I was a baby
but at least I eventually got to try demorrall eventually

[Tree]

An instant favorite of mine from your vast archive. What struck me most, in this potently sparse well-written piece, is how different stylistically this is from your other work. Which only illuminates further what those who follow you already know... Great poet, with some range, too.

Excellent poem, Mr. Rushin.