WHAT GOOD IS A BODY IF IT’S BLOATED AND MAROONED WHALELIKE? THE
MOON SO SWOLLEN AND TWITCHINGBRIGHT, CASTING A HOLOGRAM OF LIGHT
ON MY WANTON PALE SKIN? THE STERILE SMELL OF AMMONIA AND
LATEXWHITE LINGERS TOO LONG IT WILL BE ALL YOU EVER TASTE ON ME.
UPON FURTHER EXAMINATION, I AM HARPOONED IN THE STOMACH, THE ROD
RUSTED BY CHLORINE ROT, NO MATTER HOW MUCH BLOOD I COUGH INTO
THE WATERSHORE, NO MATTER HOW MUCH IT PURPLES, IT WON’T DISSOLVE
ON MY TONGUE.
THIS IS AN OFFERING THAT DOES NOT CONCERN ME BECAUSE WHAT GOOD
AM I? THERE IS NO REAL SACRIFICE SPLUTTERING FROM MY LIPS AS THE
SAND MOLDS ON MY JUGULAR, FACEFIRST ON THE BEACH, IF I’M STILL
BREATHING.
YOU TOLD ME NO ONE WOULD BE A BETTER VICTIM, BUT WHAT GOOD IS A
BODY BLOATED WITH BUGS AND MUCK FROM THE POOL GUTTER, A BODY SO
DISGUSTING BECAUSE YOU MUST PILL YOUR FINGERS IN MY MOUTH, YOUR
WRIST CLEAN ENOUGH TO SEE THE STARSPANGLED SCARIFICATION, SELF-
INFLICTED WITH SICKENING PRIDE.
DID YOU THINK ANY OF THIS PRODDING WOULD SAVE ME? EVEN WHEN ALL
YOU PLAN TO DO IS DUMP ME IN THE OCEAN IN THE END? WATCH HOW THE
BLUENESS PEPPERS THE VISION. DO YOU SEE HOW IT STEEPS UNTIL THERE
IS ONLY BLUE TO REACH FOR, TO BECOME?
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