Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri

I, Penis

I, Penis,
inherit the Earth.
The meek, not so much.
meek penises are worms
crushed by pusillanimous ambitions,
ambitions too polite
and sensitive. Pardon me,
proclaims polite, pussy penis.

I, Penis,
sound barbaric yawps over the rooftops
of my trousers, the beret my master
wears concealing bald exposure.
commercials and shows offer advice,
take what you need

I trample the bathrooms, the poetry texts, history
I, Penis. I, Penis. A title imperial and full of verve,
insert my ice-cream cone tip into the metaphors
and similes and
visual erasures
erase this.

misbehaved ladies may make history,
but to the penis go the spoils.
Soli Penis Gloria, proclaim the priests
in their collars. for the glory alone
of, I Penis.

problematic, proclaim the snowflakes,
with lyrical predictability,
paradigms, binaries
all these are foreign,
to I, Penis,
I trample, and my head marches
on and on, for the glory

of I, Penis.
don’t stop me now, for there is but one opinion,
I, Penis. There is only the I,
emboldened by the fact that
I am penis.
I, Penis.

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