To Simply Swing

Swing for the fences they say
but you gotta provide your own stick
and it's safe to say that a dick is a pretty good
stick when a lovely behind moves before
darkly eyes while passionate blood erects
desire to swing for the fence once mentioned
in the form of an excerpt from some coming of age story
where the protagonist discovered the tragedy of having a sack
and awkwardly hit a home run with his pretty good stick

Spinning dizzy in swirling nonsense
jaw dropping awesomeness of the absurd simplicity
of a vortex, how it spins with a complex nature
and never stops to ask about the complications of an egg
hatching just to cross an impatient road when idle talons
seems like the safest bet, watching the chaos from the interior
of cracked paint window panes because outside is too strange
for a logical hand to grasp and choke, squeezing out the secret
nature of having "fun" in the form of tear jerking final gasp

The truth is there, but it's hidden in an obvious sort of way
like a shoe box in a closet storing memories in a secretive nature
as photographs of a charming smile collect dust and rot
past love letters, an ancient text like a biblical reference
posing as evidence for salvation, Lazarus is no longer impressive
because necromancy is no longer a common practice

But to die is just to die, as simple as that
squeezing and feeling sickly delight
so sickening because the excuses can't penetrate
like how it used to with it's needle point precise aim
at every flaw analyzed through darkly eyes
staring into a sparkling mirror shining too true
as this reflection sits down next to you
with your lovely behind for logical hands to grasp
and squeeze until the final orgasmic gasp jerk tears
out of these idle eyes once talons whom feared the vortex
having too many questions and too many answers on why
it wasn't safe to play outside

Swing for the fence
I guess I have a pretty good stick