A Congress of my past selves convenes

Hotly debating how to appropriate

The dull foul-smelling coins

That make more jingling sound than they can buy –

An outmoded currency, this rage.

They argue from all the times I’ve switched selves

That beliefs aren’t immutable. They stand me before a murder board

As if I were the head of some agency

Wanting me to testify, or keep silent and play it safe,

Because we all only speak in gaffes,

Duly spun and misinterpreted.

We can’t seem to resolve the impasse

And so I s...