I underestimated the Detective.
His knowledge of pornography is
thorough and forever.
He suffers not through
common anecdotes of throated
organs and fetished parts in the
sexless halls of God and government.
These pedestrian anecdotes are
poppycock compared to his
anthropological accounts of
17th century smut and its
summary influences on today’s
unshaved Moroccan virgins.

He has a teething way of
favoring the cuckold.
No distraction keeps him from
focusing on his colorless view of
depravity and self-scorn.

Misandrists get no respect, he says,
and he may be right.
Who even knows the word?

His scholarly economy of porn holds on,
it even turns a profit from the
lovers who leap from buildings and the
elderly hookers thrown into
unpublished fantasies.