Oh God, for you the feral beauty
of punching a fascist in the face.
For you the bruise as unfolding orgasm,
the humiliation as scented whips.
If when you watch you want to cum,
that’s OK, God: touch yourself!
With your hand, God. Vow to learn
to land that touch with the merciless
precision of a blue-tongued skink’s
blue tongue, a tennis ace’s ace,
a mallimack chick’s projectile filth.
This is the dance you need, the sprint,
the vigour. And when you’re done, run
the fascist off the street, with fists
where vital, and kiss me.
(previously unpublished)
Harry Giles is from Orkney and lives in Edinburgh. Their latest publication is the collection Tonguit from Freight Books, shortlisted for the 2016 Forward Prize for Best First Collection. They were the 2009 BBC Scotland slam champion, co-direct the live art platform ANATOMY, and have toured participatory theatre across Europe and Leith. Twitter: @HarryGiles
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