Ego/Digest.

I cannot swallow any other degree –
I am the world
And the world is me: 

I was born with a thousand egos - crushed inside my tiny brain,
A thousand tiny, decaying bones
And squishy joints
And looking glasses,
‘Well, they looked half empty to me…’
‘…And it reeks of death, my dear.
A swarm of flies have drowned
And drowned
And now it’s not water,
It’s soup.’ 

When I was stuffed like a festive meat.
Ironic - dripping prolepsis - meat.
I learned to analyse the truth,
And make propaganda from the findings.
I became a gourmet chef,
I can cook the shrimp a la liar.
Sublime skeleton blended down, a subtle paste to line the bowl.
Broken infant arm for whisk;
Oh, it’s a costume,
Hah – hah – hah.

Intestines can take the blame, for
Absorbing illegal
Paraphernalia.
That soggy, serpentine mule of tunnel.
No one cares about
You - aborted balloon animal that you
Are. How
Do you feel?
Digestion makes
The clown cry.
You ruined a
Birthday. 

I cannot swallow any other degree –
Narcissus hasn’t got
Shit on me.