Lemmings for a shilling, muskrats for a pound;
We’re scared but jumping by the dozen,
Better still when skinned alive,
Wet and willing but not spilling
Blood unless there’s money.
Search me but don’t hold me by the content
Of my pockets – flayed I will not waste one drop,
Not carry more than what I need to shed
My fur of blemish, my skin of the cult I’ve pledged
Unholy allegiance to, the first-torn cartilage
Of my breaking-up lineage to.
What we first do is suffer,
Until we next discover what it is we’re up against –
I could eat if I wanted to,
Meet you if you wanted me to,
Treat you like the worthless habit you’ve become.
A way to stroke the self where flesh once was,
Where hunger caused this house of bones to crumble.
I my own mutation of euryarch patriarchy,
Sullen line of evolution getting back at me
For shrinking, for not sticking with
The muscle should be mine by rights,
Deliv’ring me from penitence.
Musk and dusk and darker,
And hungry for acceptance.