an ache in the polyisoprene gut

an ache in the polyisoprene gut,

a world made of solvents, whose fumes bring, like the illusory tree of surveillance, unformed grins,

searing headaches, and the formative touch of my cold plywood teeth, underneath floorboards

(gnawing)

my body could be a house, which can be lived in many times over, reordered to the user’s needs, have its innards ripped out, be the place of many lives over, and be one of many that serve indistinguishable purposes with identical results.