I’m all for the surgical arrangements of plastic lips
On doves flying into the dark corners of my heart

Where a worm curls into a feeding position and stays there
I let my body wash beads drain into the ocean breeding toxic roe

By now the color of money has flooded the whole face of the ocean
Hand-tinted yellow sending energy in the form of extra yellow

My boyfriend’s kumquats turn from orange to yellow to white
I store them in a dark cabinet like shrinking-gut-trophies and admire them

I fondle my guts in public, to the wicked keep far away
Men dying for wealth, birds dying for foods

I would rather place a paper crown on my head
and go to sleep than give energy to a terrifying painting.
It is not about what I want, but what I choose to see and how I act.
Even the fragments bend themselves out of shape in an act of rebellion
There is nothing new to this sequence
Like scissors
Everyday I feel a little bit further away from where I started
A pumpkin seed from inside the perspective of a melon
My studio is my restless home
My shiny apparatus is a tongue scraper with soft rubber handles
I am only half-formed myself
Like a sibyl’s pathetic vegetables
I wear a braid that creates a noose at the end of it
Stay awake for the duration of the design
Throw the application into the imaginary terrain
My hormones click and then arrange to be closer to water
An artichoke has no claim to the ocean
Where are my ears?
My twin must have them
Earthbound in a fatuous cave
I am oval and contemporary, thin and male
Learning how to self-mother is a necessity
You cannot hemorrhage your way out of it
You may be owed money

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