Bacteria Of The Red Light

I was really excited about this job interview.
Goddamn.
I didn’t know I’d start sending death threats
to the interviewer barely the day before the interview.
Subconsciously, the day I got the date for the interview,
I’d already begun thinking of ways
to boycott the company.
They sell products that protect your bacteria or something.
But protect this, motherfucker: my face
when it needs that transplant to prepare
for the interview! No doubt some mystery
is unwrapped: one’s soul when it escapes looks incredibly mysterious.
The underbones begin that R-Rated rap
routine and everything. One sees oneself portrayed by
a hot tranny levitating fake poop with one’s old,
‘inappropriate’ mannerisms and worries
and conversation skills – and it turns out
the fake poop is nothing but
those old beautiful qualities in What Would Jesus Do
sandals themselves.
These things are indeed incredibly mysterious.
But then the crocodile tears begin to flow:
they’re dressed in Spanx
and connected to dots
like the logic of mirrored shell-shaped furniture
designed for conjoined faces. The queer comfort
you draw, the second before your old face
and the new ‘interview face’ separate forever,
in Abstinence-Only sex ed
can never be a turn-on to hooker
bacteria, to whom my condom head
at the interview promises the only
sexy osmosis.