Why, why dost thou mock me so??
Ye cruel and bastard, fluffing harpy
stabbing-piercing-purging flow
of metaphysical blood; slash lines in Sharpie
searing my mind in alternation with flaying,
giving exposition: fool it once, shame on you;
fool it twice, receive doled pain.
I could boot it perhaps, let fly with my shoe
as I let go morality where it will,
to fly steadfast elsewhere, to sink its talons
and mold their impression through another, still
perching on the sill of the window of a gallant’s:
a conscience is hateful, progenitor of quarrels,
what say you and I get rid of our morals?
