HOW TO MAKE LOVE WITH A SAFETY PIN

I don't care what the psychic said
this is where I belong,
among the poets
with their bad breath
and worse fashion sense
raking their words
across their chests
and screaming obscenities
Of course they make me angry
exposing their lusts
for all the world to see

But blood rushes to a wound
and heats it up for days
attracting anything
that shivers from this cold hard world
it gathers sympathisers
pressing on the pain
until it's toughened up again