Instructions for Behaviour at Border Control
Wear a red dress. Paint your eyebrows green. Ensure
your gait mimics the gait of a lion who's fallen
awkwardly from the sofa and is pretending he hasn't.
Hop sideways and shifty across the line that reads PLEASE
STAND HERE. Throat lustily Now you see me Now
you don't. Fall to one knee with a ring made of luminous
plastic and zebra-skin. Ask the loneliest guard to marry you.
Stroke her gun. Whisper in earnest I studied witchcraft
then grin because with your green eyebrows they can't but know
you are telling a truth. While stamping out hours of queue,
ignoring the teeth of glossy instructional vids, invent
a Magnificent Teleportation Device, and with its tachyon trails
write theories of history to gut the future. Return, steaming,
and sing of this to the queue and the guards and the screens and the signs
till the thrice-damned terminal implodes from the singular weight
of its own internal contradictions. And breathe again. And spell
again the teleportation device, the manifesto, the implosion.
Make a lever of your time. Handle yourself with care.
From Tonguit (Freight, 2015)