I've got a serious confession to make

Not the Jerry Springer type, more like Ricki Lake

It's come to my attention through self-deliberation

That not all of my poetry is written with the best of intentions

I've come to the conclusion that I am a slut poet

I'm not too cynical and disillusioned to know it

It seems that I'll spread my mind for any woman who shows interest

Maybe, when I was young, I could have had my mind molested

And now I'll write poems for whomsoever gives me attention

I know that my wants are simple, to that I've never had contention

But, it seems that my words are just too easy

So, in the end, I come off feeling sleazy

I've hopped all over this city, from bar to rave to club

It doesn't matter how shitty the locale to the drabbest pub

I'll see a female bartender, dancer, or whatever and begin writing

My words are sweet, thoughtful and tender, everything about them inviting

Then, just as I have her heart beating, and am two steps away from the score

I'm no longer sitting where I was, my paper and slutty self are out the door

I'm not aiming for a long-term relationship, I'm a one poem stand

And I don't really feel too guilty about being a Slut Poet kind of man

I just wanted to confess my skanky lifestyle to my fellow scribes

So you know a little bit more about my more sordid poetic life

I'm a Slut Poet, but I can't bring myself to apologize

My thrill remains seeing the first glimmer of love in the next bartender's eyes.

-David "Dingo" Bleecher :)