I miss the penis.
I feel like a word with no vowels;
no one wants to pronounce me.

Woke up this morning,
looked around for my penis.

I would like to order a penis, please,
with dressing on the side.
Also, this soup could use a dash of penis.

Mr. Defile Me, where you at?

There's something lacking in the décor:
an artfully placed penis.

There used to be one, right over there.
Reading the paper, using a drill gun,
leaving socks on the floor.

Now there's a hole in my heart,
penis-sized. Ohhhhh prostate

baby you up and gone.
Those ol' seminal vesicles done rambled on.

Corpus cavernosum,
mmmmm-ahhh—hmmm
ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

A penis has taken flight.
Probably gon' fly all night.

There's a flock of penises headed south.
Their cries recede over the distant car dealerships.

Over the darkened pleather interiors
and the stoned janitor, slopping his mop
in a bucket of dirty water.

Hi there, I'm Gordon, but my friends call me Gordy!