Thursday, August 20, 2009

This whole thing wants to be personal. I want to piece by piece dismantle this body. I want to each part offer. I am a simple beauty, like all flesh, a miracle confused by cycle. Every morning I roll from, then eat, I move and I shit and I write. Then, the next day with a few of my cells less successfully replaced than a decade ago. My solution is surgery. It is for me really, but I'll give you the souvenirs because you signed up. You never thought I was a mess of parts, but I will be. You'll see.

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