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every time i go to see a client i get skinned and he folds me nicely on the bed table, like expensive silk shirt, every time i get skinned i go away with the glossy shirt from my lover’s basement full of boxes, boxes that were left there by their dead mother, plenty silk shirts, flared pants, sea bed covers, quilts i’m curled up in jealousy how slim she was, but now too dead to be jealous of, curled up in my giant guts, digesting, yesterday’s sea food, molusque
every time, mothers of those kids, i’m fucking your kids, and they shout of pleasure, they ask for more, they say they never felt loved like that, they were never touched like that, where were you, mothers? with your initial nipples they sucked like now they suck mine,
always too hard
I was definitely busy. By, finding out
genealogy of my un-historical organs (two only) —
first) eyes.
I will never blame myself, till those who took my eight eyeballs away, will not come back to me with official apology; the two scopic instruments they left me with- please. not enough for this slimy world — those little creepy bastards, gnomes they are called, my ancestors
i never saw them again, how could i? twisted sick, they flattened my remaining lives
second) legs.
hopscotch backwards because i never learned the numbers, and having six legs never helped in this game either; the only thing i succeeded that night — to lure the giant red but so very cute spider — first she fucked me then — she ate me, no surprises; she licked me till i find my legs no more, no tiny bone all sapped; i rested in her belly so hairy and so rumbling, it reminded me Divine/previous life, when i was Jonah, 3 days i’ve spent in whale’s belly — such a good vacation — are over
and Tanya, the random girl, comes into the room, i suspect, she just came to stroke my vocal chords, all so wet she fisted my throat
