The Long Assault
It’s better than a god, because it’s real.
It wants libations, worship from your mouth,
Caresses for its selfishness, to feel
Some total sacrifice from going south
On it–and wants complete submission, true
Abasement, like a city forced to fling
Its gates in open, fawning welcome to
The conqueror with the battering ram and sing
His praises with the squeals of pained delight,
The captured victims groveling, on fire,
Required knee-bending, yielding every slight
Resistance, gasping, gagging for desire.
The victor wins, crushes, celebrates,
Violates gushingly, annihilates.