the
lifetime experience of the bodyoptimistic layers of cells keep
hoping from the basement membrane (as if the goal were anything wonderful to
be on the outside reflecting part, faint imitation of industry within:
the cations jostling with intent purpose through channel pores, transforming
all information into electricity, leaving only two ways to go: cleave or
bond, excite or rest, making the self-jolts of the buried heart, stubborn
with flaps and thickenings, their meaning gone missing, surfacing only
a collection of pulses that respond the same dumb way to lust, fear,
climbing the stairs, invisibly spending heat into the air like questions
not asked, stories that started one way and failed into crushing endings).
oh, the naïve germinals, how they push on, how they divide. how they
wait for the sloughing moment and imagine they will renew (but skin
is only a resume of waste: scars, scabs, picked places, slicked with
curriculum vitae of secretions). © 1997 Jessica Manke (bio)
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"Taken
out of context I must seem so strange." - Ani DiFranco
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