The nature of inspiration

When was the last time
You heard the word 'erection' in poetry?
I think it was a while back
Between the pages
Of reform
And Odyssey.

I mean "humans" don't even play
Bogies anymore,
Or just rise to the thirteen year old tree-house
Inside us all
Where politeness is a foul facade
And we aren't afraid of our fingers.

No...
Instead
We prioritise the silhouettes
And forget
The way pressing pen into paper
Made us so
Steamy
And out of
Breath.

Inspiration isn't a pretty, pristine river...
It's magma
Flowing
With taboo,
Glowing
Like irradiated
Lemonade
And it's about time we became
Mutants too.

It's about time
We let up
And let it
Burn us up
Turn us on
Turn us up
And fine-tune
Our wobbly bits
Into an aphrodisiac
Viagra fusion
Of concussive
Corrosive
Verbose
Sex.

So if there's any P.S.
Poetry can teach you
It's this.

Never forget
the word 'erection'.