David King

gabriel no longer inhabits my body, mercifully
instead there is howling echoing behind “pulses” and “breatheing”
the sea of the sentiment
it starts in my blood and the colour of my blood is the same colour that the body of the flag bleeds wading in its warm puddle-pool

stagnant bathwater between bruised fingers, tips spotted
clots form and float
our forefathers rattle their tutorial volumes in our faces disapprovingly
you touch me so intimately so sweet it makes me fucking sick that the world is not rightfully ours but unfortunately theirs

oozing plasmatic heart between the lips and teeth i ask in supine who would you die for?
would you die for holy oasis-haze delusion?
or will you perish like the rest of us saintless beasts in crimson warpath
your body laying open spreadeagle
God’s eyes cast west