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.