TINGE Magazine - http://www.tingemagazine.org

Issue 3

Mission, TX

 · Poetry


Big, grievous food
place, squat on a
dust tundra. Understand

the difference
between man
and man

eating things
manufactured by man.

There are words 
the mouth does not know 
by taste or intercourse: propyl

gallate. prop your pills
against the gate!

I have dreams
in which I swell
to a bulbous tree.

We drive in a round,
green car.

We eat breakfast 
at a filling station.

We make cereal from candy 
bars and milk. 

The farther I travel south,
the more I am reminded
of things that I fear:

fatness, laryngitis,
bodies without heads
like public trash bins.

I reach the border at Mission, Texas.

It costs a quarter to cross:
some slotted exchange then a turnstile,
like tongue pushing past throat.

I eat the words I have not the insides to say.
I am force-fed and septic.


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