corpse puts the corp in incorporeal.
i have trombones for limbs. an anaphylactic tongue. mildew where i fold. a dixie cup heart.
uncomfortable with my own shout. my head is a bowed bicycle wheel that cannot be trued. she's
got zelda fitzgerald mercury in her veins. a voice of gunshot clarity. her countenance is
worthy of Manet, indicative of secret government jet testing mettle. and circus knife-throwing.