She thinks of all the things that have been inside her––the fingers and tongues, of course, but beyond that, the Matchbox car she swallowed on a dare; the small but still too-large-to-be-swallowed umeboshi plum; the injected titanium filament in her right breast when they were quite confident (but not confident enough not to inject the filament) that she did not have cancer; the ink of the tattoo over her left breast (consistently cancer-free); the sewing needle home-piercing above her left eye, sterilized in Bacardi 151 (now discontinued) and delivered, implausibly, stone-sober, still elegantly scarred; the later follow-up piercing, inflicted for $70 AUD in a proper, bliss-white 2001-A-Space-Odyssey-redolent parlor, soon thereafter irrevocably dislodged when she traipsed into a clothesline at night; teeth-whitening strips; innumerable toothbrushes; over 6,000 tampons; 9,234ish multivitamins; 240ish spiders (if statistical science is to be believed); the neck of the wine bottle that chipped her tooth, hastily but effectively filed down at a tearfully negotiated discount in the wee hours before reporting to the office; the necks of other bottles of other things, consumed under less celebratory conditions; Q-tips; under-the-tongue thermometers; ear thermometers; once, a meat thermometer; a Neti pot, swiftly rejected; toothpicks; anal beads; lollipops from the doctor’s office; lollipops from the bank drive-thru; upwards of 57,000 pounds of food; 43.5 gallons of alcohol; needles; the lip of a pipe, on numerous occasions for marijuana and once for heroin (the latter infinitely regretted); Fun Dip sticks, sparingly dipped; vaccinations; hoop earrings; stud earrings; a miniscule vibrator won in a Halloween stage competition at a now-defunct Hollywood club, likely at least in part defunct because they were handing out free vibrators; silverware; plasticware; slivers from fences; specula; once, irreversibly, a curette; tongue depressors; a globule of gluey jade-green wax, the good stuff, twirled and ripped from her nostrils on the occasion of her first and final nose wax; inadvertently swallowed gum; the blade of a knife; the butt of a knife; the barrel of a fake gun; the barrel of a real gun, just to see; the lips of balloons; a glittering array of dental instruments; the tracheal tube, just that once; tweezers; braces; caps of pens; guitar picks; wire-thin tendrils of floss, again and again and again––all nothing, as skin is nothing, as organs are exchangeable, insofar as sacred though the body may purportedly be, it is still, now as ever, dust-to-dust, plastic and steel, a quilt of invasion.
The orgasm that is like an escalating inwardness
having stopped throwing up after four days of sick,
which is like a Joy Division drum track.
Still, there was something—a spark. Are you fruit or vegetable, I wondered?Decades later, you are still mysterious to me. And a bit of that in any relationship can only be good.
The possibility is raised that these groups are one and the same, are in fact only collapsable into a bacteria-shaped mass made of the jealous, the non-monogamous, people.