Prayer with Casual Sex

[robdaley]

Prayer with Casual Sex

Around West Hollywood, a girl can pay
ten dollars for a donut now. The gays
own everything out here: even the holes  -- the linebreak here is to suggest the gays own the holes which I think is trying to be clever in a crude way and sets up a humorous tone
get glazed with flower petals, edibles
of strains with names like Jizz or Cheetah Piss— -- more of the crude tome here
I can't live like this anymore. Today
a piece of trash wolf-whistled at my ass,
I bent over to pick it up. -- how does a bit of trash wolf-whistle?   
They say
it all works out, but I still sleep alone,
Sunday still ends with “Why?” I haven't seen
the inside of a gym or twink in weeks  -- N is lonely and inactive, possibly depressed (asking why?)
and not for nothing, but my landlord's growing
overly familiar, calls me “babe”
like only Jesus needs to know my name. 

N is disillusioned and ranting about life. But they have their faith. What is the goal of this poem, can it achieve more by commenting on society?