What are you doing?

You with the motley heart
of patched together prayers
      to other people's gods,
of quilted love songs from lovers
      you never loved,

what are you doing
with all that flesh

that body
held up
by hunger in the morning, by hunger
the limbs lifted
into the posture of industry

and all those words,
whispers that wander
and give up
in the air between us

and the flush
of ambition, of ambition swelling
with pleasure
like pus
until the pop

what are you doing
with this poem.