Think of everything you’ve called
                                          Awesome!

How can you be a writer and know so few words?
How can you be a lover and know so few moves?
We are a classless caste, capable of cursing and not much else.
Yes, fuck. Fuck with relish,
but kiss, too, and fondle and lick,
caress and collapse, and even canoodle.
Succumb, when you don’t.
Suck off, when you do.
Make love like it’s poetry,
make poetry like it’s pornography.
Get in, stay in, stay up, get off
and acknowledge the sun when it
Rises to the occasion.

We’ll be old someday and no longer prone to awe,
so let’s not undersell ourselves.
We can be magnificent, we can be astounding, we can be
a thunderous explosion
or we can be a whimpering flop,
forgotten.
To love is to illuminate
with shadows.
To write is to elucidate
with confusion.
Why make it short and sweet
when you can proliferate all night long?

But when you finish,
don’t,
for the love of the Word,
turn and say,
“That was awesome!”