Missionary
There
are no toilets here
because everyone eats
flashing light. We do have silence,
though, like a whole
congregation mouthing
the words to a hymn.
Sweet,
sweet walls, sweet
incuriosity, fold us in
like a hammock: we know
you fall out there, we know
you crap and crawl and that
is all we need to know.
(It’s
a relief to be well
tied down; if your balance
is bad we can do you, too.)
We
are the truth. Disagree
and we are the beasts
with fists for teeth. We have
a teaching for perfection,
and one for wrath.
Listen!
We want you.
Forget you are anything
other than us—you
have to have to stay. You have
to say at least.
-Nick Admussen
About the Author
Nick Admussen’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in DIAGRAM, Seneca Review, and Pebble Lake Review. He is a graduate student in East Asian studies at Princeton University.
