deep in our bones, this
self-loathing.
For once, we are
at one; for once, we are
a part of something—
we are part
of the problem;
we are wolves
in wolves' clothing,
and we hunt
our own revulsion—
not with a fury,
or even
as a joke, but
because we're so
engrossed by
vulnerability exposed
that we long
to catch up
with our goldbricking souls
and hold them so close
and so tight
that they choke.
