Screenshot rings—
To slap a sucker. You think
Your appetite entitles you
To moonstained blood?

And you, and you, and all of you.
Scrap mouths, yapping from
Ass-ends of snakes. Shut it.
Shut it. Shut yourself!

Your little o’s and u’s and y’s
Without wisdom—
All bite, all bitches' bark—your traps,
Fracked actuary lines.

My splintered flotsam pierces
Fiercer than your fangs.
Your slit-tangled tongues,
Your whore-hooked hounds,

Your dog-groveling snack,
The politician’s lie. Your island—
Ground to grit, and sifted by
My epicurean babble.

I suck off
One billion suns, you snatch
Six bones from Ithaca—
And don’t dare swallow.

I am the throat, I am
The eye. Black
As red as wine, I am
Neither skin nor flesh, I am

His brutal
Homecoming. I am
Cauldron of slaughtered
Maidens' morning.

His alibi, to coast right by you.
As if the smiling tide
That governed him—
A king!—stoppered with wax.

Just try—you cannot shut
Your maggots fingering,
Their heads, nailbeds, uncut, exposed.
I am the shuttering.

Shot-shallow loons, aswirl
My spiral bowel, prowling
Pack of orphan pups, your howling
Hungers feed a woken Why—

My delta consumes,
Your keystroke masturbates
A corpse’s withered sty.
Pregnant with his child,

All men belong to me.
My one
Unconquerable O—
Your place to die.

//