Gay Flash Fiction has resurrected John Washington King, the San-Francisco-based man of letters, and asked him to spearhead a new literary movement, the VERSE REPAIR MOVEMENT. Handsome, toned, and sparkling, John has the nous of a great versifier, and so he was tasked to take a poem of our (your) choice and improve on it, no expenses spared. The underlying text here isn’t quite a poem, but never mind.
So, here goes. Let us know your thoughts, there are many more candidate poems out there, billions, possibly:
It’s so fucking twisted,
You know.
The whole thing.
You fall in love,
And you fall.
You crash,
Your bones break.
You’re fucked one last time,
As he whispers in you ears,
And kisses your neck,
And everything matters.
Then he’s gone,
Smell,
Sight,
Sound,
Vision,
Jizz,
Stink,
He’s gone.
You’re crying in your car,
If you own one,
(Your car),
At (im)possible hours (crying) (you),
After sunrise,
In the empty (parking) space, the space we’ve used before.
His discarded T-shirt holds your bones together,
For now,
While he takes his time,
And his leave.
Here’s the source, the original poem (by a seemingly anonymous author), have a look…Okay, the link doesn’t work. Well, then, here’s the original:
John W. King teaches forensics and negotiation at San Francisco State University. He’s infamous.
GAY FLASH FICTION 