Horns

An elongated extra

life inside ourselves, a folded jewel,

a shrunken mattress, we've got it,

and it comes out

like a snake.

It came out on a wet night

once. We were blurry

with drink and with the

strangeness that seemed to be

                                  everywhere.

We could smell it. Our shoes sank

as if the concrete had

turned to mud, and

trumpets sounded

from the ground, and

Dark Charles had a

flashlight pointed right at

my nose like

a hot bruise

and now they have us by the

                                             horns.

After some time

nobody really questioned it,

we just went the way our

heads were pointing,

and now we only talk

to each other, but

there are so many of us

that each is only

going where

             he's led.