To live is to be sodden. There is nothing arid about existence, nothing laundered or distinct. To live is to reek, to forever seep into circumstances. All gateways to the human stink. The ears. The mouth as much as the anus, for some.
And the eyes, the eyes most of all.
To live is to consume and to exude, to excrete and to chew, to turn upon a thousand hidden alchemies, rheumy transformations of what we lust into what we abhor ... or love.
And so life convulsed and life was expelled from the socket, drawn sheeted in blood from the suffocating real, the very muck of amniotic origin, and held exposed to the scrutiny of cold Void, the hospice of prayer...
So that some essence might alight...
Some breath be drawn and screamed.
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