Mary, Mother of Christ: Tale of a Second Lover, by Blind Boy

The doctrine of Mary’s perpetual virginity omits the night we spent together. 

We made love in the sandy hills of Galilee, her hands calloused. 

Eyes holding pain, that’s why we were there. 

I took God’s lover as my own. 

In the hills, amongst the sheep. 

We forgot the horn of our shepherd.

“What is my son to me?” she questioned. 

“God, or at least, he will be” these words lines in the arid heat. 

“They’ll forget your name” humanity lays in my arms. 

“Your names will be white, your revolution too.” 

She cried out into the night.

Her nails left stigmata on my back. 

Hers was the only salvation. 

To see Blind Boy's earlier poems in The Eunuch, go here and here.

Ethical Platonic Polyromantic Ageplay Ode or the one where beauty is youth, youth beauty; by FalseAnon

If I am twenty-two, it is only because I have slept with twenty-two men and not due to any other assortment of factors, namely the number of trips I’ve made around the sun. If I am twenty-two, it is because I chose to be twenty-two. That makes you eleven and counting. Fine. Consequently, I’m 100% a pedophile. If only you were sixteen and a half—I’d more acceptably be 50% a pedophile. But unfortunately for my own reputation, you haven’t been as much of a whore as I am. And frankly, those good things came to an end for me recently. I know some days you look to me for how to live your life. Fine. I’ll father your mommy issues with my own daddy ones and give birth to one big, happy family. Age is but a number, but a number is the difference between three and two. If you want more birthdays, you can have them, and I’ll watch as you go from a boy to a man. I’ll watch you learn how to handle a woman. And in the meantime, I’ll keep getting younger than you. Younger every year until I’m just a girl you don’t know how to handle anymore. Because shhhhh, I know. I know that’s how you like it, daddy. 

The Whore of Babylon (to the tune of Battle Hymn of the Republic), by Kell Hicks

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Whore,

Shit-faced on twist-top wine She lifted from a truck-stop store,

She hath sheathed Her tenth sword of the day, although Her pussy’s sore,

Her cooch is marching on.

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya!

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Her cooch is marching on.

I have seen Her take a dick in every orifice that’s damp;

She’s unloaded more cum than She’s taken on Her rose tramp stamp;

She was with me once; She rode me laughing ‘til we both got cramps;

Her ‘tang is marching on.

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya!

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Her ‘tang is marching on.

I have licked all on a fiery bush until its floodgates spilled;

As I ate Her, She did slob the knob with superhuman skill;

Let this Hero, let this woman drink until She’s drunk her fill;

Since She’s got Her bone on.

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya!

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Since She’s got Her bone on.

She has sounded, “I’m a strumpet, gimme all your rigid meat!”

She is sifting out the hearts of men before Her judgment seat;

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Her! Be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya!

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Our God is marching on.

With the beauty of a lily She was born to shoot her skeet;

With a glory in Her bosom that transfigures you and me;

As She lives to fill her holes, let us deliver what She needs;

When She’s got a bone on.

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya!

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! When She’s got a bone on.

She is coming like the glory of the dawn upon the waves;

She has pissed upon the mighty, She has pegged the ass most brave;

So the world shall eat Her stools, and horny souls shall be Her slaves;

Our Whore is marching on.

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya!

Glory! Glory! She gon’ do ya! Our Whore is marching on.

Statement from the artiste: I claim no copyright to this beauty. If any singer-songwriter (Screentime, I gesture in your general direction), country band (looking at you, Hiram, you gorgeous motherfuckers), or rapper (Kod3x, I see you, and I wink) wants to turn this into song, have at it. You won't get any Cease-&-Desists from me.

Drunk notes to KH — an exercise in self restraint, by China

Day 1

My uncle ran over a drunk guy’s foot on the way to the river. My mom has said this guy is black at least a million times.

You should be proud that I did not text any men I’ve slept with to receive attention and only redownloaded bumble for less than a minute. When did I become an attention-seeking whore? And when does that become a bad thing?

Also, I love you.

Cork carrot is the Charlotte equivalent of Aurora bread rock.

My dad bought a wine called “Poppy” so he could say we’re having Poppy for thanksgiving dinner.

“Cooking is hard because you have to stand up a lot,” said Amelia. “Although i have gotten better at standing.”

“Do you want to hear some tweets I’ve drafted,” said Ameila.

“Alright, I found the onions, but they’re just not what I expected.” — Ernie Anderson

Day 2

Dream KH cheated on Rebecca at a party, so I texted you about what I saw very angry, and Dream KH just texted back a lot of sexually explicit emojis. I became even more angry.

My cousin Michael is now Madeline.

My dads gout is so severe after Thanksgiving dinner, and I’ve never seen him in so much pain.

Day 3

White young professional drinking hard cider at windy hill: “we’re moderate, we’re like not loyal to any party”

Day 4
Got an email about your GoodReads updates, an account which I forgot I had. I’ve gone back to it and hope it’ll help motivate me to read more. Also, I miss you, though the impulse to text you every detail fades just a little bit everyday. Instead, I’ve had more time to reach out to other friends. I forgot I had so many.

Day 5
Read the best science communication sentence ever about the earth’s mantle: “part of the mantel is viscoelastic, meaning it’s goopy.”

Day 6

I had a nightmare that Rebecca was ugly and also very mean to me.

The town manager and clerk have designated me as the “secret keeper.” For some reason I’ve been trusted with all town secrets.

Chance sat outside my room while I was gone because he missed me

Still a love addict.

You win. I’m not getting you a gift.

A Stranger #4 Reassures Didi and Gogo, by Em Dick-in-Son

While you’ve been waiting for Mr. Godot,
I had a one-night stand with him.
He’ll come, alright.
He promises, surely, surely.
It’s just going to take all night.



You can find Em Dick-in-Son's last poem for The Eunuch here.

We Did Blood Magic, Do You Still Love Me?, by Blind Boy

The icy winds redden my nose
The faraway howling of humanity terrorizes my ears
The roots of life burn wicked around my shackles
God sits passively
God sits passively

An elven servant comes forward
Brand in hand
Like a steer he marks me

“One of the flock”
God chuckles
sheared of hair
I sit quiet
Breathing harsh

Forgotten by my people
Odin watches
Buddha ponders my destruction
Brothers in suffering

Sitting under a tree
Chained to understanding
My sins laid bare
She comes to punish

Soon the dwarves come
Scooping at the bloody matter
Taking both eyes

She comes
Scaffold in hand
Nine more imposters
Hanging for the father
The all-father
Arranger of the world

Hanged God
Ancestor worship
Kings none

Grandmother approaches
Hammer
Nails
Two boards

Vinegar breathed
I fall screaming
Your heart revealed

I wish to kiss the descendant of the king

The wanderer finds me

I lack sight

He gives it

Strength he affords

Quiet in the dark

I am the son of God

The son of Loðbrók

Sea king

Prophet

Forgotten poet

Failed