Thursday, May 1st, 2014
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A Poem By Susan Lewis

The Original Self-Pleasure Equation

& other inconsiderate lilies. Or any mineral aspiring to ambulate. Which is not to say living in close quarters. Leaves rubbing & rustling, promiscuous breeze egging them on. To carry on tastefully until the bitter end. To stay on the lookout for aught nubile in negligée. Not to be neglected like the young & juicy fancy their feelings (to the swell of strings). In other words America & its discontents, table of. Quantity, quality, & other mysterious divides. Yet another veiled Islamic reference. No rest for the wary. No wrest for the offended infidel smashing bottles on officious effigies. To be faithful & timid, to redirect resentment ’til it rolls over & submits. Remember what you never understood. Reciprocate. Fill the gaps with measured starts. Sprinkle with gestures rationalized & inapposite.





Susan Lewis is the editor of Posit. Her most recent books are This Visit (forthcoming), How to be Another, and State of the Union. Her work can be found in The Brooklyn Rail, Ping Pong, and Word For/Word.

You will find more poems here. You may contact the editor at poems@theawl.com.