on deaths daybed i cry
begged of works, eyes removed
lastly birth,****** of ireland
to the lent hands my body
and the Eucharist beneath my shorts
spelled in years after pope john paul
dumped and unfound ways for another's man
his pummeling body, worthy of war's
and shouts of handling me long distant nights

eden and templed evil'd british tongues
manchurian's grandson's
mourn of light, sage halls of discipline

im required of naught the te ching of thee