Hard for the Slaughter

I’ve always been hot for the body in charge
With a sceptre and feathers and a chest growing large-
Like my teacher at sixteen
My professor in denim-
Who reached under my skirt
Quoting poems of heaven.

I was god for a moment, singing songs of revolt-
On the teat of a cow, buying dreams that I sold-
And it’s there I first heard whispers
Of a final solution
Whilst everyone around me
Was masturbating to the revolution.

Oh brother, and sister- don’t tell me I’m astray-
I want to grow oats where the red country fades.
On a tractor of love
Green rolled in my hand
With braids tucked into a hat
I thought I understood- would understand.

But the thing about youth, with its hunger and flame
Is the world paints a halo around every shame.
Then one day the beat twisted
Into sonic pollution
And everyone around me
Was masturbating to the revolution.

The saints who need hate to feel some kind of pure-
Done with live-streaming love - what is love? They’re unsure…
Take a drum and knife
And a mask and pen-
Like a map to new order,
To the vibrating hens.

I walk through the city with milk through my blouse
Forty years of days, and ghosts in my mouth.
And the lost boys with banners
And their clean resolution
Are hard for the slaughter
Masturbating to the revolution

.