These horns make it difficult to pass security.
Very often the fears they inspire
are closeted by the machismos that necessitate
both airline piloting and the sort of failed
yearning for imposing order on the world
which results in the airport security detail.
I may have said too much about it already,
The sandwich lady is digging with a shovel
for pastrami and the oversized advertisements
usher me into mental decay on glacial levels.
She passed me a wrap of tapeworms and you know
what I said? I said maybe it will grow up
to look like me. Can you believe that? Also
it was wrapped in scripture, Psalm worms
wriggling up my ever after.
So I wrapped my horns in a towel and they punched
my ticket to the slippery State bordered
by constant burning repression and catatonia,
pre-awarded structures like these horns, which I
confess were made by another creature before
the security guards dispatched it.
I’m on my way to infiltrate the museum. So you know.
I’m diving in to smash the toilet I was
bred of. If you meet a tape worm, one of god’s
children in your intestine, listen for her message:
The path to mercy is an insistent flushing.
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