If only I could refer to myself as an “it,” o how easy it would
be, entering myself; full of airways and roof-tethered animals.
O the slaughterhouse I’ve become.
I taught a class where we worked in homeless shelters and
community gardens and food distribution centers. The students
wanted to change the world, but sometimes Question Authority
was a barrier between us. Sometimes we shoveled horseshit side-
In a new plague of pop-up ads, what is lost is what is seen.
What is not seen, never was.
It is interesting,
reading comparative translations.
My mind wanders, lingering on
the things I have done with my body,
do with my body,
comparing these with
the things other people do with their bodies.
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