cult comfort, or
knowing your sacred transfiguration into a scapegoat
was worthwhile, the goat mask you wore over your head for years
was worth wearing, the flesh that you offered up to your family
was worth the slicing, the gifts you sacrificed
worth giving up, the words you stopped saying
worth the silence, your tongue
worth cutting out like a coat
warm and wrapping your shoulders, the collar tight around
your throat, that kind of fit
so perfectly tailored for you that escaping
involved tearing the fabric of everything
apart along the barbed wire fence,
that kind of comfort is what we can offer you
tonight as we undo you, kindly
holding your cloven hand while we pull out your guts,
unwinding what was said and done,
and giving blood and comfortable sacrifice to that worthy feeling
you probably should have given yourself, instead