I am a corn man
Not a boy holding scissors
On an iceberg.
I am holding a horn man
As I make fuel from corn.
I wet the wipe
And suds my stench
From the heart
Of this blind man.
I am not a train,
I remove chorizo from the glands
Made by human,
An actual person
With breast, penal sac
Inflamed thyroids
A moon on their cleft.
I am groomed
Planted on the avenue
A louse on the king’s hair.
I give myself the belt
Gladly crying into the hot pan.
I photoshop Christ,
Making children vanish.
I fly donkeys over West Texas
I am man, sans a tree
Growing through my head.
This is everything
I can teach you about
Myself, Jen.