We swallow whole all things / we don’t know, a slow digestion / of the self.

your heart pushes blood
like the moon
pulls the ocean
Fast-twitch, slow-twitch

I laugh—oh the things I would have conjured / could I conjure: silicone Ohropax, flashlights, / popsicles, plastic diapers, tampons— / I was always on my period

Google tells me she loves American football, and I wonder what twist of data gave her this quirk, this sweet brave way in which she diverges from me, diverts surveillance, leads the advertisers astray.

I am not comparing myself to Creator; I am only saying I am made of water; I am only saying I flow to the sea.

My knees, hips, knuckles, and spine were strung by an amateur marionette maker.