Willie the Pimp

It's been a few years now. That I have been writing Sounding like a sensible fucking man, If there is such a thing. Rhythmically then, I suppose I have been a whore. Writing about her, Prostrating my own self Over and over. Phenomenologically, The shapeless mass of literature; The pulp that i have produced Does perhaps make me a whore. During the years I may have Simply facilitated aspirations, Tarnished the odd expectation, One would argue then I am a whore Epistemically so. Ontologically I truly am one; Jiggling in ink For a few women Giggling within their kinks. Metaphorically, I am the old crack whore Keeping the pimp's stable in order. Now there's a question, Am I a whore existentially, Given I am the pimp? I know I have her When she's comfortable In the awfully long Silences with me. Systemically then i am a whore. Pragmatically so I am simply a whore Who reversed the game On whores.