On the Search for Rasputin’s Wang

The legend tells us that it’s eight to ten inches long,
which was unimpressive to the girls before they realized
that’s fully flaccid and soaked in formaldehyde
for eighty-seven years.  Yeah, it was found
in a wooden casket by some maid in the palace
at which Rasputin was poisoned, bludgeoned, shot
and drowned, which was a miraculous discovery,
considering there are no reports of his dismemberment.
And after years of being worshipped in France
like a fertility goddess, Rasputin’s wang is home
in the St. Petersburg Museum of Erotica,
where it continues to have magical healing
capabilities.  Just being in its presence will cure
your impotence, herpes, urinary tract infections
and any other dong-related ailment you could think
of.  And it was at this point in the story where I could
feel the interest in the room building, as the guys
began to look at one another and wonder
to themselves if Rasputin’s wang would have
any effect on size, stamina and confidence, would it
take away the awkwardness of being twenty-one
and naked before a woman who could laugh
at you in another language.  And I found myself
thinking Rasputin’s wang could show me how things
would have been different with that Russian girl
if I allowed myself to come instead of shyly
hammering away until the condom broke.
And remembered how lonely one could feel
being inside of another person.  So I and a guy
named Miami George asked directions
from every postal employee, homeless veteran
and scummy-looking passerby, though none
could give the whereabouts of Rasputin’s holy penis.
Maybe if they knew, things in Russia would be
different.  It would fix a declining birthrate,
for example, maybe change the sexually abusive nature
of its men that makes the women want to fuck Americans,
who likewise prove inadequate, crying as soon
as they’re touched and so forth.  Rasputin’s wang,
if you are listening, how can I be honest with myself
and still dole out the good and necessary
punishment.  Tell me whose curse this is.