My next goal is to eat my way out of this darkness that has swallowed me.
After that I want to eat the soul of the President
once I’ve established a stable residence
as I know how long and how tough a job it will be
to convert that thing into fuel and waste and memory.
It won’t be a good memory
but someone has to do that for the good of the state.
I think I have been chosen for that, for I understand the words
that keep appearing on the flag behind his head:
abbreviated for the convenience of the moment
and as a way to control the gag reflex:
It’s a lot of weight to carry in my mouth: chewing, chewing for days on end.
No one said it would be easy or quick or appetizing, of course.
After I’ve done my gross digestion, my next goal
will to find gainful employment as a dark muse
for someone equally constrained by the history of their appetites.
We have to stick together.
It wasn’t our choice to eat the souls of monsters
and foolish greed-dogs, to save the rest of you
the chore of small-bite revolution.
After I’ve done that we will band together
into a guild of songsters with worn out teeth and bowels
singing cracked and painful arias about urgency
and the sound of those political bones
in our teeth. We’re only doing it to exhort you
to help us. There are so many of those tough souls
to be eaten. Maybe a rousing chorus will help you choose,
won’t you sing with us, sing along,
I have eaten the damn President’s soul
It was heavy but not heavy enough
to keep me from that task
But the flag keeps waving
and the words the words keep coming up
If the whole kingdom must be consumed
you will have to open wide
we will have to open wide side by side