Fitting everything you know about America into a midsize sedan. Watching a creeper

vine snake out of a hijacker’s ribcage, bloom out of their skull. Mickey Mouse reads the

Communist Manifesto, Tony the Tiger conducts a TSA sweep. Trapped in the burning

ironwork of this ideology.

You move towards the riot. We’ve all grown so attached to our movements. No, I can

actually say that, a lot of my friends are men. Saying a land acknowledgment before

brunch. Surfing off the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. God checking his Gmail.

The sedan stripped for parts, melted into a mercenary. The plane crash you survived,

that you worshiped. The neighbors invite you over for dinner. You bring a casserole you

bought from Safeway. We’re Satanists now the hostess declares during dessert. Your

politeness is thin and frail as a branch. It’s okay. We’re a lot happier.