Supply Chain Plaything

Microbe jumps right in and rides a plane into the long dark tunnel of the hold
Microbe plays hopscotch on metal on plastic on leather on the rich juicy arm
Microb uses pseudopods to palpate tiny hairs, a brown muscular hill
Microb slurps sweat, stingy and full of salts, burps politely
Micro nests for a rest in the warm elbow nook, hooks sinking
Micro leaks the minutest trace of its own guest virus through
Micr’s sleek two-layers deep membrane, a kiss
Micr sighs in the bacterial morning, a herd of skin kin say hi
Mic knows when it’s time to leave, to heave ho and go
Mic slides while skin kin holler and throw poison arrows
Mi feels sick and slick and thinner than before
Mi wonders what it was all for, this adventure, this fall
Mmmm feels another kiss
hiss of warm air, warm lap tongue

dissolves in stomach acid

release youth



When Mother names me does she reclaim her own decay. I am born and I am dying. Doctor holds my tits in his hands. My flesh which is not my flesh retracts.