It's Only TV
by water & wind & to these naked villagers you seem a God.
They toss you bouquets & oranges & you kiss their babies before
dawn finds you clothed
in a sparkling tie & Armani suit squatting in the muck at the edge
of the swamp
where you’ve come to gnaw the thing in your hand that drips blood
on your chest with every bite.
Is it the heart you’d stolen from the ripe baboon or it is your own heart
the one bristling with magic
that calls all to be whole again?