The dick is the width of a shoebox so I can use it for support in twisted half moon pose or reverse triangle or fallen star or twisted side crow or any pose requiring a skinstand.

I like to tuck the dick and let it slide out for air every now and again to play the organ.

I take the dick to McDonald’s and dip it in the fry vat until it bursts yellow starchdust on uniforms worn by men named Jamie.

I rub the dick in the parking lot.

I make 99 cents.

If you put a single sweet potato on a white pan inside a 450 degree oven and leave it inside for god knows how long it will explode black as molasses.

When in a pinch use the dick.

The first time I used the dick I mounted a man on a weekday in Pitt County, North Carolina.

The sky was delirious.

The man was twenty-seven years older than me and carried a pistol and a jar of vaseline.

The dick loved him very much.

He spread and I wiggled inside and I felt like a Sergeant working off the clock.

The noontime light drew flies to the window above the bed where we were in a rush to be shown something of ourselves against other functions but neither of us had a camera so the ceremony was a lot lonelier than it needed to be despite the obvious electric tingles that were sponsored by my dickcraft.

Past the flies and through the window I saw a blimp in the sky trail words I could not read.

Inside the room was a granite demon with only one lung.

I stopped moving in and out of his ass and asked him to look at the blimp and tell me what the words said.

He turned to look at me and said the words said A Woman Has Only One Dick All The Rest Are False Ones.

I removed the dick from his ass and laughed. Men live by sensation, not intention.

The man walked to the kitchen to cook the dick some shellfish.

I sat at the edge of the big black bed and softly said, Men live by sensation, not intention.

The dick agreed.