Its thrombocytes its cytokines its karyocytes its marrow its
ligatures its fats sugars carotids and all its spinal liquidity?
The enzymes the microbes the acids the way your tongue glides
around teeth rests on the palette. That peculiar feeling
in the optic nerves confronted with sublimity.
The stretching to the skull's base connecting eyes to the neck.
The musucular jouissance of a footstep, cyclical motion.
Death is a sculptor. Decay a slow performance. Yet obscene shunned
relegated to other spaces inaccessible a matter for experts and
numbers not for friends. Who among us does not obsess
over one's own body? We humans with our alleged egos
must unlearn cellular solipsism. It is a matter of being
present there with/in the organism.
Be the golem and the mason both.
The druid and the alchemist.