by Matthew Buxton


there was never a command-

ment that i didn’t break. but 

there is only one that i 

regret. smells like it did when

i was sixteen–tongues and cum

that linger on my wrinkled

sweatshirt beside some lead head. 


how ironic that she was 

bathing when david craved her–

fucked her when uriah went

to war. now i sit in dead

silence in the aftermath

of this storm, and remember

that bathsheba ruled the world.


i got so used to doing

exactly what they told me

not to–in the back of a

rusty-rimmed red pickup truck–

that now i use it as an 

excuse when i’m mad that he

doesn’t touch me anymore. 


bullshit that you think i can

just ask Him to forgive me:

though your sins be as scarlet,

aren’t i right? this is a 

bloodstained letter i can’t just

rinse cycle and pray that it

washes out white. forgive me


father, for i knew what i

was doing, and i still put

the car in drive. had twenty

long minutes to turn around,

but i waited till it said

arrived. and for what? nine min-

utes of bad dick in my life?


there’s something so delicious

about something too sinful

to eat, or maybe i’m just

afraid to get too close to

anything that might be good

for me because i have lived

so damn long invisibly. 


surely i’ll be put to death,

that is what the law decrees. 

both of them shall die–the man

who lay with the woman, and

the woman–but this time she’s 

a he. i’m sorry that i

fucked him while you were sleeping.

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