Black Spring: Differentiation

In my perfect imagination      touring the ransacked garden of  eden his naked black body hanging  among les pommes his palms cusped  around the genitals like any man caught   in the clutches of his own sentimental aggression,   histrionic the veins in the neck still enlarged   with the choked off scream it’s like the ghost of redemption   in that hung up soul is walking on the atlantic like    it’s his stage, toward the backdoor of the christian myths with his    dick out laughing, asking Job to reconsider righteousness is it really a   virtue to love your enemy is it really the tree of life dangling all slain    fathers in an outward pronouncement of thirst am I really breathing or just talking  to godheads like they’re less and less yesterday maybe your scissoring heart is a scab on my guard’s    good skin and him falling back into the earth only to grow forth again even less reluctant to know    what he is and show up to it guiltless playing some space stuff humming Somewhere Over the Rainbow, grabbing his dick  while you slit his throat