where do I go now, O Academics?
where do I go now, O Battle-droids?
where do I go now, O Door-knobs?
where do I go now, O Petrol-based eyes?
where do I go now, O Bodily fluids?
where do I go now, O Mother?
seven years, saving hunger for the hungry, sharpening knives for midwives, pretended I read through the pages wide spread but only I knew where the hands were and why, disgusted and disgustipated sleepless constipated by the dreadful truth about the salivally marked territories and soldiers with glass in the eyes and eyes in the glass and rotten mouth skin eloquent but no taste at all, unable to fill in to fill in the void.
