i think the things have a seriously fucked up life cycle. they are fungal at first, spores choking & clogging, spinning mycelium spiderwebs all up & down the cavities of my body; turning my stomach sour, my lungs loamy, the hollows of my bones brittle & heavy. then the bloom, grow laden with fruit; heavy fleshy egg clusters, covered in motile little cillia. hooks to dig in, to twist (the nautilus in a ship, twisting) into the soft parts within me. from there it is a matter of diverting blood vessels till their enmeshed in black & blue, thick with bruises. from there they just swell up into boils, leisons dotting all over my guts like bubbles in swiss cheese. waiting to slip free of their skin, to needle-on-a-record scratch across my pharynx, or tear reckless through my bowels. to just plop out one morning, vomited forth, & scuttle away down the drain.
& then wait.
