APPLICANT MUST HAVE
| somewhere to live, like anyone | with an annual salary forty times monthly rent |
| who’d prefer | fifty billion in savings, or |
| self-determination to a | shit-eating grin |
| curse in ancestral line | kept in check by side-hustle, |
| or a door that opens only to reveal | SO many bank statements |
| the secret | handshake of the freemasons, a |
| horrifying will and | testament to a submission kink |
| STEM education | AND/OR starter wife |
| what’s an approvable | desperation |
| pile of gold | AND one (1) weak point in armor? |
| kid | OR one (1) cat but not both? |
| cat | OR one (1) dog but not both? |
| remaining wish | (a monkey’s paw) |
| to have somehow been somebody | moneyed and not revealed |
| the true name | method by which applicant can be vanquished |
| in exchange for this | one tiny |
| vital thing, six walls | pixel of land |
| a lot | of fucking nerve |
LOCAL BEAST, KIND OF A LITTLE BITCH ACTUALLY
in the game of psychic supplicant
nobody ever wins
the little god laughs
to see such sport
asks the human what’llitbe
but knows: the usual
which unasked questions this time
and which blames
something about the icebox
whose turn to buy the plums again
the god-part sees the mirrors
how the human chooses this
to be small and seething
at the pouting boy-king
on high atop his
private narrative
so resourced
and so butthurt
