Teeth are sharper than eyes & pointing
backwards; eyes wide as dream.
Body that is flexible & limbless & purely
carnivorous.
Finite tissue circumnavigating the entrance hall, the little belly,
what of the seeping mysterious pores?
Interred in silence, egg-like, it waits to begin hatching.
A swimmer born swimming.
Some walls are thicker.
The lampheart moves around in the body, though by whose will,
whose spirituous flame?
Turning skin inside out.
Though it take a lifetime, the heart propels to the moon
& back whilst a black mamba zips through space.
A kitchen faucet gushing for ~45 years, that is what my ~11
ounce hole contains. Everything but the hair & claws.
To be & to be & to not be a vessel. To continue beyond in air.
A thread.
200 train tank cars or 1,500,00 barrels’ worth, everywhere blood.
Except the corneas. In trees, underground, in waters
of lakes & seas, in ancient continents & filling cavities.
Deep brilliant-hued & striking-pattern sleep after an elephant-
ine meal.
A tongue in constant motion.
It is the flute & not its music.
Transplanting may or may not mean what you think
it means.
Also, coldblooded.
Valerie Roybal, Intersection (collage)