That's That

Truth is a freakshow or a ghost in the mirror


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That’s That
Sometimes I’ll rub my thumb against a beer can
And it’s like rubbing against a woman’s breast
True, the can makes popping sounds if I press too hard
A woman’s breast elicits moans or a slap to the face
So much for forced analogies and the nervousness
Of a forced life playing it safe through avoidance.
If I were otherwise sanity would be sought through security
But being a square peg I’m forced to seek a proper aperture
Like creatures seek the same and that’s the bitch of it.
A dog can’t mate with a cat, and that’s that.