Lately I’m desperate for salvation, perhaps
             a rack of engraved tablets that sets me free. 

While cruising north on I-24 past Chattanooga
             & Clarksville out onto the great highways 

of the Midwest, I hunt for desserts worthy
             of worship. I’ve never traveled through either  

Kansas or Nebraska but I hear they know their pies.
             In the meantime, I’m trying to learn how 

to invert myself, intestines draped around me
             like a prayer shawl. That would turn me into 

the star attraction, gawkers’ eyes fixed and
             wide as I pull my guts out one bend at a time. 

Years ago in Vienna I toured a crypt stuffed
             with kings, queens & heirs, an entire dynasty 

stacked against the walls of spare, cramped vaults,
             each casket quietly asking for attention.