deep in our bones, this
self-loathing.
For once, we are
at one. For once,
we are 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
that they choke.
