It's magic

 

Sideways 120 x 100 x 1,8 cm c/o Karin Goeppert

ADJUSTMENT

I have to knock myself down a peg.

Who else can? Some honcho right out

of Iowa who always falls off his bike, then writes

haiku about the gorgeousness of his tattoos? I don’t think so.

Justice is a do-it-yourself proposition or nothing at all.

A mission statement. Clearing bullshit out of the stables.

Beheading the babbling hydra within.

Being nicer to my wife, e.g., not peeing on the toilet seat, etc.

Research from reliable sources informs me that

if I don’t make such an adjustment, an embryo

of parasitical self-regard just might escape its pod,

weighing down the planet with too much me.

I know, you’re probably thinking of Mind Flayer

in Stranger Things. The second nastiest

motherfucker on television. And, dear reader, you’d be right.

Things can always get ugly. The way a presidential

news conference gets ugly. There’s something literally

modular about you and I—were you aware of that?—so we reach inside

like a mechanic working the valves of a pick-up

broken down on the side of a road some  

where in Montana. A small white clapboard house

in a clearing. A farmer swinging on his front porch with the wife,

so perplexed by our presence—in a slow adjustment of his own—he’s not

sure whether to offer refreshments or grab his assault rifle.