to circlets
of light & moral
unimpeachability:
you slept at David’s
ankles with your own sexy
raised veins. who can
chisel themselves
the purest? which
flawless underdog? you’ve
sucked against gold
madonnas dreaming
you are the baby, you’ve
practiced cradling
fat marble cherubs passed
out in the heat. ok so
be young, ok so
be vulnerable,
you do not have to
earn it. you do not
have to dissect your
evil from every angle
before asking
for a sling. besides,
you are so sick of asking
for slings like you
have no clothes to rip
one from. didn’t you once
call your love
fucking devotional? haven’t you
run out of organs
to blame? I am so bored
of waiting for you
to decide on
your goodness, tell me:
do you think
he’s just thrown the stone?
or is he about to?