Sacred Barrel, Sacred Target, Sacred Ammo
He lines it up. It’s softness has gone hard
And it at least knows perfectly its need.
It’s like an aching, pulsing, fevered shard
That’s full of its intelligence and greed.
It knows one thing, and that’s enough. That’s all
It needs to know. It knows that once its size
Is swelled to fullness, once it’s long and tall
From where it grows, its hardness is as wise
As any man could want and so its head
Must start to push itself inside the tight,
Slick, giving, ring-like hole. Flesh has to spread
The entrance, praying for the holy rite.
..That hole becomes the other god, the one
…..Stretched perfectly. It opens for his gun.