LoverLy(e)

Warning: This poem is gay male in subject, experimental in form, slightly disturbing in tone, and leftist in politics. If any of that bothers you, you shouldn't read it. If you stay on to read, let it be said: I gave you fair warning.

Hail Gun Sergeant

Raping small children for the glory of Christ, why did you lie to me? You said you were out getting cigarettes in bullet-steel headdress of imagined wrongs. You know I love you, the feel of your slick skin against mine in the firelight of a thousand screaming bullets. The mothers weep for their sons, entwined in sexual embrace. It feels so good when it’s with you, when you are deep in me, in my guts. They lie on the battleground deserting their commanders; from a million men and women whose skins were darker than the night we first made love. In the cramped space of the barracks room floor, we desperately shucked off Full Metal Jacket.

Gripping your cock in my hand
And feeling yours on mine
I slipped back into your arms,
Guided you into me.

Always sleep with your gun,
You had said the first day
Keep it locked and loaded
Ready to fire.

Napalm covers up the bodies of skull-fucked kittens nailed to another cross of anti-religious crusade. Won’t you ever come back to my bed? How long does it take to buy cigarettes anyway? Their screams echo you know, through the corridors where the bamboo cages pale. Remember when we first tried bondage? You were going to whip the fag out of me, you said, while I lay in harness and leather? Was it really a lie? I saw you on the television, there was a bible on a mountain of bodies and you were smiling with a plastic representation of a woman. I don’t mean to be jealous, but can I complete with the black man with the cock of steel and drive of autobahn? And before I can stop myself, I remember your old wife and how she used to shine over the battlements buying you little presents.

Honor.

Courage.

Morality.

Am I really enough for you these days? I hear the marching hordes who have fallen in love with your graven image atop foreign soil, slick with sand explosions and gangbangs. I hear their cry outside where an effigy in a cross begs for mercy. I feel their cry on the TV, see it on the radio, hear it on the shadows of my mind. But I don’t really. It’s mere regimentation, enjoyment of war and patriotism at its beginning level. I listen to the sonic. It reminds me of basic training.

FAP.
FAP.
FAP, right,
FAP.

Do you hear them too, where you are? Hear how they adore you, lust after your cock, like I do? And do you still think of me as you shred another pregnant mother’s uterus and cut off her husband’s dick as he watches. Will you save that dick for me as a present? Are you thinking of me as you spill cum on another falling corpse with your worshippers in tow? Am I the image that sustains you as you’re out buying cigarettes?

No, I am the illusion aren’t I? Every time I see you with the boys in white hood and hemp, beating up your old wife for a thrill, burning me alive on the stake. You’re smoking a cigarette on the TV, smacking your lips that once smacked around me in that special way. And it doesn’t matter what I say now as the smoke curls from my fingers. The empty bed makes no statement except the mounting cheer

Hail Gun Sergeant, I miss you so much. ((Christ is Lord))
Hail Gun Sergeant, Do you remember me? ((Fuck mooslims dead))
Hail Gun Sergeant, I still love you. ((We are the right))
Hail Gun Sergeant, Please be happy. ((Satan will dread))
For me. ((Amen))