A pigeon sprints across the lake;
a pigeon sprints across the lake;
and so, where’er my heart shall take
me shall I soar across to thee
to your heart’s spirit-pastures green,
my feathers thick with carrion-clay,
my heartbeat weak, my spirit gay,
God flays my skin until I am
no carrier of the spirit-plague;
His caress as breeze upon my quivering cloaca-crack;
His love as a wheeze before the hawk digs claws into my back;
but sprint I on into the arms of liberty’s Valhalla crest,
on roaring seas and frictioned knees I wheel out a Mount Everest,
and like a whore i never stop until you get your money’s worth,
O God, because to shortchange you would truly earn the wage of death.
My love, my love; I grin to thee, in mirthful crucifixion -
how can it be? Hara-Kiri; I plunge myself upon thy sword.
I long for You, for holiness, for true love and for Mordecai,
that Bird of Prey, who isn’t gay, but somehow only ever wants to fuck me in the ass.
