My body is at it again, ever-demanding like a man, yet I’ve never felt more like a moon - the way it folds into the sky, examining itself before refleshing. I am so greedy with my body, too greedy with my light.
I went to the beach at night, unfurled the sand, the wet grey unveiling a whiter, dryer earth. A bony finger wrote: yes, this is me. My cells, my sickness, semiotic things telling me what to want. What coral. What misnomer. What jellyfish bubbling up its medusa – a gelatinous bell...