The Mothercunt Sonnets (4)

THE MOTHERCUNT SONNETS (4)

In church, her carnal fingers knead
My inseam bulge. (The pew
Contains but us.) She whispers creed:
"God has a cock--like you.

The male is in God's image struck.
I'll bet His is like yours.
Let's go. I want a Sunday fuck."
My Mother reassures

Me as I drive: "There is no guilt
In what we do. Believe
The human race could not be built
Unless those sons fucked Eve.

The preachers won't be--so I must be blunt.
Cain slew his brother over Mothercunt!"