Vermin Eat Evil

Rats stick dead things into their guts.
We stick our dicks in customized despair,
onaholes shaped like everything that’s hurt us.

The horned owl’s face is a half-eaten possum.
The jerky man’s face is a cow in agony. My face
is your puffy, hypertrophic scars. Raccoons,

bodies full of shit, roam wastelands. Our bodies,
shot through with planned obsolescence:
mustard seeds lost in the waterways and inlets.