Bedfellows and Idealisms at the Mansion
Forgive us our daily breadlines
of bullshit; feed us with our lust
for more, a hunger that feeds on
its emptiness of wanting.
Clean and clear my heart out
with the sharp edge of liposuction
because I've never been pretty enough
to lay beside calmness.
Calamity; my bedfellow,
lusty men are like bible salesmen
they twist a notion until it fits you best,
a well worn body clothed
in the stolen idealism of one religion
but fed from the breadlines of another.