Stream of Consciousness
to be somebody is to be something being a body.
This body has bones. Two hundred and six of them. This body has skin and muscle and nerves--God, the nerves this body has. And I find myself wondering if this body of bones and skin and muscle and nerves has limits. If this body has "yes" and "no". If this body knows "right" from "wrong". How long could I press this body's palm flat to a flame before the flesh melts onto itself and scars a glossy pink? How long can I force the body into submission, flat on its back, before the muscle atrophies and it gets stuck like that forever?
By l.j. swann2 years ago in Poets
