I hold my manhood in my fist,
the screams of gods
borne of a rifle.
My wife is a goddess
of legal murder.
We don't feed,
we just play and bathe in blood,
parch in leather.
And together we make love
on the battleground, laid
to waste the rotting corpse
of an unsuspecting elk,
clutching the Second Amendment
in the reach of my trigger.
I have no empathy.
I wear only my shotgun badges.
