I look at my grandfather and I see myself. I look at my father and foolishly think I’m further than the elderly in my youth, and in the young I’ve known my mom, and the things she once knew and what she knows is gone. The desperate desire for change. The misery of consistency. So deconstruct. English Americans became Americans, and I marvel at what they’ve had and what we’ve lost.
Mounted deer heads, and East Texans. Conservatives of industries of meat, oh glorious meat.
I welcome a stranger, and I wear the deer head. I miss the familiar, and I deconstruct. I wear the deer mask. We wear the deer masks. We miss the familiar, and I deconstruct, and we eat glorious meat. Eat meat, glorious meat. And two become three.
Though I’ve still not seen my brother, or his new fiance younger than my undone and in debt sister who wears the deer mask, and we miss each other. I wear the deer mask and talk of long since without a lover, so I am the animal. So I breathe glorious trees. I breathe.