Anal Geometry

Two dozen years,

and I am still a stranger to my ass.

Truth is that we have never met,

shaken hands or done much

other than bump into each other

on occasion or simply rub each other the wrong way

in private moments,

the lesser known stories of the rich and famous begin

with parts of them they don’t really know.

I’d like to hold a conversation,

take it to lunch.

Ask it if it blushes at attension.

or perhaps it’s a feminist/radicalist ass

that rustles deep-seated anger

towards your comments,

and suggest to you pay more attension to my breasts.

It could be fluent in many languages.

I don’t know we’ve never met.

Or maybe we’ve met, but my ass was to shy

to say something – like boys who dance as close as they can

to get a good look – just hoping one of you has the balls

to do something about it.

My ass would.

I can tell. A good conversation and my ass might

turn the whole world around.

Ask your ass.

I bet there is a high percentage of asses

that can fit physics and cultural cristism,

lawn ornamentation and world peace in the sentance

much better than I did.

My ass would be a doctor. Of Mathematics.

It would. It could calculate inches

and diameters and expose the world to

virtual communities whre the size of the penis

actually reflects the real person.

We’d throw a party for it.

Dress up my ass in a a nice suit.

It might make a speech

and bring the house down

to it’s knees

begging for more.

Because I never could.

I’m not an ass.

This is a poem by a person called Hawk Kincaid from the book Hos, Hookers, Call Girls and Rent Boys. I really liked this powem and wanted to do an image for it. This is the actual image I submitted for the collab in the end. I think when it came down to drawing it it was hard to represent but I enjoyed creating the image.

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