Something happened to my sex drive, just the other day,

It up and stole the car keys, then it fucking drove away.


I screamed, I yelled and chased it as it sped along the road,

But it just flipped the bird at me and never even slowed.


I trudged back home, bereft, alone, bewildered and ashamed,

My head was filled with desperate plans for sexiness reclaimed.


I stayed up all night, the next night too, and jumped at every sound,

I imagined my libido, lost, was speeding homeward bound.


A week did pass and I confess, I rang the damn police,

They weren’t much help to me at all, they offered me no peace.


I put adverts on the lamp-posts and signs on all the trees,

I had the local paper print up “Sex Drive? Call me please?!”


The weeks they passed without a sign, and I gave up the hunt,

I realized that my sex-drive was a righteous bitch-ass c**t.


Now I don’t want it back at all, and I will be a nun,

If it comes back I’ll shoot it with my brand new loaded gun.


And so I say goodbye to sex, goodbye to love and all that crap,

Next time I feel a tingle I’ll just give myself a slap.


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ZOE BROCK was born in New Zealand and raised in Australia. She has lived in more cities and on more continents than she can count (truly, she's a model and can't count) and is currently residing in the deep fog of San Francisco. Her true home lies on the dusty plains of Burning Man where she feels safe and challenged and truly alive. Zoë once had a very popular blog on MySpace and writes everything from awful poetry to truly delicious dark satire, and all sorts of sexy things in between. She has appeared on the cover of Elle magazine, inside the pages of Vogue, Cosmo and Marie Claire, to name a few, and is working on her memoir, an expose of 'growing up model'. Zoë is also a certified yoga teacher. Yes, that means she's bendy.

3 responses to “The World’s Worst Poet Strikes Again: Libidinous Rhymes”

  1. Brigid Brock says:

    ‘Pale Green Pants’! Favourite book. Dr Seuss would be proud….well, maybe. xx

  2. ric says:


    even as I recall masturbating
    within the last six hours waiting
    for the work time to become play time
    whether or not the words rhyme
    with too much tmi to tell
    I think I am relating too well
    so please tell me, what was the cure
    (and don’t tell me none, there is one, I’m sure)

  3. […] Given all of that, it’s no surprise that she went to Burning Man.  And wrote about it.  Or that she prepared for it by hiking in neon crotchless fishnet bodystockings. Or that she digs the Diceman. Or that she writes dirty poems. […]

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