Throne of little god,
twisted to full grin
straight to the Morning Star
all big black wings
and big black smile
Holy! Holy! Holy!
Cry children
careless and hopeless
holes of blood
between thick thighs
soft and buttery
Holy! Holy! Holy!
These fingers in tender holes
these golden fingers
black Morning Star
shake the ice from big old wings
and march on the world
Holy! Holy! Holy!
Six feathers for six eyes
screaming with plodding sex
the rib snapped and buried
in the red ground
where a black tree grows
Holy! Holy! Holy!
Smooth round ass
clear black eyes
the Morning Star peels back the night
cracks his big mouth open
and with red tongue
as long as lulling orgasm
cries
Holy! Holy! Holy!
And all the world
cover
their
delicate ears
and pray
