There's something to be said about a sex poem. When it's good it can inspire, titillate and engage the listener or reader.
Then there's the opposite.
A poet introduced his poem as Mountain Love, a Poetic Fantasy. It started pleasant enough, with images of storms along with the consumption of wine and dark chocolate.
Quickly after those words were spoken, the descent into the dark beyond began. Orifices had things inserted into them, the phrase 'hairy hole' had the crowd squirming in their seats as one.
All that was missing was a "Name and Address Withheld by Request" coda. I think it was not a coincidence that Bob Guccione passed away, possibly while that poem was being read.
Something in many of us died after hearing that poem last night. My poetic open mic innocence was shed long ago, but I cannot imagine what it was like for the fifteen year old in the audience who was attending her first poetry reading.
There was also a Women of the World qualifier slam that Vernell won. I got myself one nasty sore throat today by yelling at the judges. Karmic payback.
You never know what's going to happen at an open mic. Last weeks breastfest was rather tame in comparison to last night's Letter to Penthouse. Next week is the Halloween show. Will there be Elvira costumes, or torture porn?