Significant Other, oh my lord

At times, like the psalter, so too do I know "My lord says to my lord." --Just talk to myself. And not so messianic that way though. To say, I am. Not He. To counsel myself as I counsel myself. 

I my lord.

And with governing dispositions of demons and habits and spirits and wishes. With filibustering tenacity, lazy rhetoric, and honed congressional honors, I behold in me lord stalwart. The old man. James Strom Thurmond. One deadly wise murderous Patience. The long incumbent. The elected stated of mind prevailing. The golden oldie. Still spinning. Getting dialectic play.

Behold in me: The arguer for the importance of my impoverished penis.

My lord is a whirlpool made of boa constrictors, whose path is straight unto eventually choking; unto I am weakened; unto goodly suffocation; unto resignation; unto…

I am fallen. Hard as Abel’s face into the rock, fast as Cain’s arc unto it. From risen ecstasies I land depraved. The heights I knew deflated as the corpse of a child to the teeth of scavengers. I am pools of blood in the pigs' hollow. I am the fog as it disappears from lips.

Oh my lord.