Intestines
What’s with these thin fingers lying inside my stomach as if they had never been borrowed from an animal? I like summers when I say “hot” and my fingers point to these scrambles. They live downstairs, near the liver. Different worlds, I live in a different cosmos. They are inside me, I feed them with all kinds of crap, they keep moaning – instead of an alphabet, I hear sounds like “squuuueak” or “weeeah”…it’s a bloody refined sound, isn’t it?
I befriended them while a child. I was eating worms once upon a week, a cradle of worms eaten with honey. I expect my honeymoon to arrive and watch it pass away, taking my intestines as far as possible. Grocery stores…places where men in costumes cut the meat down, slice it into ring-pieces, throw it on markets.
I’ve really smelled my intestines. They sure give me the creeps, especially when I think about so many illnesses (cancer included). I’m no hypochondriac, at least I’m not pretending to be a very realistic one (just like in Woody Allen’s comedies)… I don’t hate sick people, any more than dead people make me sick. Intestines: an ode to power – the power to subtract vitamins from junks. We couldn’t do that, unless you existed! Oh, Lord! God Bless the Intestines! And Robert Burns too!
