It's a thrill
we get
in our bones,
this self-
loathing.
Not only
to be part of the problem
and to know it—
but to rule over
the revulsion,
to hold
the solution
so close
that it chokes,
to slaughter the fatted
calf of disgust—
as if feeding
off the heat
and the bile
and the friction
of the swift
and brutal
murder
of momentum.
