Black robe, you are no

Solomon,

perched inside your wooden cage

blathering like an imbecile 

left too long believing

in your own insipid wit

Lathering the flaccid patriarchal cock

with the shit you saved from yesterday, tucked inside your cheek

there is no room under the folds

for the consequence of truth

If you sliced your finger open

on the records tucked away, ignored

you would bleed incompetence

and the longing for your father

Careful, placing 

dots on

every eye

The smell of acquiescence hangs around your head

like flies

draped across your altar,

eyes rolled back in your head

You are a whore

for ignorance

cheap and unrepentant.