“The uterus kicks, the timer is done, and now it is wailing for our mother.”

“Today, a nasty type achieved beauty in cotton pants, a birthday hat, and a tubercular sweat.”

“If we look close enough, we will see that it is your skin that I am tasting, it is certainly not my own, not on top of everything else I have to hold;”

“The centre itself is the vapid, porous edge of each day Passing into itself into itself into itself,”

“All the while, madness becomes bloated, and juts out from the soul.”

“Here is a yell that means I’m hungry. Here is an inheritance. Here is desperately filling every emptiness.”

“What then of/ the pus-yellow milk/ dripping/ on the hoof/ -trodden floor?”

“This is what we do with the dead: pick them up, use them as floss between our teeth.”