Imagine being /
Master of the Stool, having to wipe /
that gargantuan arse.../
...Think of that face//
glancing towards Tower Green, as Anne /
prepared to bare her innocent neck, /
then turning away, to go and marry Jane.
I’d be attracted to people who had guns the same way /
I am attracted to people I suspect don’t like me. //
I would walk up to them shyly with my hands up /
and ask for a hold. I’d say Hollowpoint or Wadcutter /
as if they were the nicknames of our mutual friends.