By publishing his flaws,
Details from moments buried in the past,
Stretching liter'ture's laws,
Still, there was a confidence in his shame,
Sure of what he wanted,
Naturally retreating to the pen,
When his deficiencies were most flaunted.
Two chairs in the wind? Does that say it all?
It's something to unpack,
But, it is the simplest that most attracts,
Born of an innate knack,
Depth where there's none,
That's the most open text,
The one who gets drunk until he blacks out,
He who cums, miles from arriving at sex.
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