There is nothing in life I find harder
than writing poetry while listening to P-Funk.
Not even admitting
how the sun lives in my lungs
how I am a sidecar right now,
without your motorcycle,
not even admitting the green in my fingers
and how they flicker on the desktop
when I think about your shoulder under my head
or your hair in my hands
or your hands in mine like a mirror
how even my perfect stillness is broken.
It's even harder than getting to this point,
Even harder than admitting my bright orange heart!
No. For some reason there is something
about P-Funk
that I find totally forbidding!
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