The giants we pray to will guide us. Harden me, David draws a sword across his loin. Slicing the head off his daring prick. The head swung by a clump of hair. The hair taut in his fist. Lonesome tug on the corners of his lips. Boyface halved by chiaroscuro. He’s staring sick at the frozen hot last breath. The breath’s face is Caravaggio’s. Eyes trace the blade’s sharp angle. What’s a little death — clenched in his spare hand & dangled: Pardon me. The giants we slay live inside us.
BIO Richard Prins is a New Yorker who also spends time in Lusaka and Dar es Salaam. He received his MFA degree in poetry from New York University. His work appears in publications like Gulf Coast, jubilat, Passages North, Southern Indiana Review, Willow Springs, and has been listed as a “Notable Essay” in Best American Essays 2014.