like that little spider
repeatedly slipping
as she climbs
my seven-foot glass window
i slide many times
in my striving to maturity
away from a mere living
by letting go those numerous orgasms
after the regular steadfast filling
of my belly which is a sheer span
my tired friend, then sits
and weaves a dream of a highway
to the top with no exit
or, just a fewer exits
ending in a daydream
like that of mine
that heaven with gold paved roads
bought with blood
of a real man
that refused the wide way
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