the real loser may be a thief
do i enter the room?
do i? do i?
hello clock
hello plate
hello chainsaw
what's for dinner?
theatre
the wolfman enters stage left
puts an entire bungalow on his head
sings shakespeare
juggles a whale
cut to the foreign legion
and a random national anthem
that you snort coffee
from rolled-up salvadoran peasants
that your cat doesn't like you
even when you feed it
that you treasure the wine of your youth
only when it's vinegar
that the iron in your shirt is only instant starch
that you're your own mortician's ultimate fantasy
that you like it that way
that the chess game on the wall
has arms and you think tells the time
to fight for you
theatre
the wolfman is someone you were
the chainsaw is your voice a year from now
your shirt your chest
nailed together with invisible flesh
the mansion in which you plot
is only part of the wolfman's left earring
and below his feet
you can hear the jungle
scream
when the creatures intuit that you
too
were born there
from The Troubles (1993)
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