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: libre|deux
I am a divine digit ‘pon a healing hand
A flame dancing; the dame romancing
She mutters in her troubled sleep, the whore
Sleeping for a hundred years and more
The prodigal son is smitten
A child is wailing beyond a wall of water
The deep, dead body of its sodden father
A young child dying
Its slumbering mother raped in this house of glass
By her, non other, taped – for ravens to pass
Mother of the miscreant
Scarlet Woman to this year of the machine
A thousand hands are grasping at her thighs
Sleeping soundly
Still she lies
(the children cry ‘Babalon! Babalon!’
and I smell burning flesh
Where have all your flowers gone?
Blood runs down your paved-up mesh)
She contains so much of me within
Yearning to burst through her velvet, Victorian skin
I lick her cheek with a horrid, fiery tongue
A wick is lit in the thumping throng
You may be a heart, but your beat is off!
Hear the drums from up aloft!
Your guardian blind and bleeding
Smart Alec with the gun
We have him by the battered balls
A godly grip on his genitals
Smouldering in our fisted sun
I am a divine digit
I am extended; I am unfurled
I shall finger-fuck the world
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