even when everyone else knows, i still keep my secrets wrapped tight like muslim women. i write on wooden spools with a felt tipped pen & wind black thread around it. i leave lemon juice kisses- count them against the discarded advice of catalus, like the peeled husks of bluebottles, tenebrous canvases painted with ink from faintly lumenecent squids. the end result a cat scan kalediscope, marked in ultra-violet like a flower, guiding pollinating species in.
old emails. phooey. a year ago & some months, this skull of mine was filled with maggots, living on the corpse of our old relationship, a body dug out of the ice box & left in the warm, moist air. but now i'm jack the ripper & doctor's bag; i walk through pea soupers, enjoying the gaslight silhouttes. the other night, someone was tearing at scabs, & they came off in thin paper curves, revealing a wound healed over. the other night, someone was teaming with scarabs. & they came off in thin papyrus scrolls, revelations 10:9.