To Be Aesthetically Planetary

Women are rounder now,


supposedly. Preemptively

bloated. Nauseous giants.

Foreign. Parasitic. Popped.


But I wanted to be sharper—


something that could cut

another being besides me


with digits formed from

rebel lines and corners

incomplete: to exorcise

this hypothalamus like

sunlight on the 28th day:


to avoid bleeding out

in shock collar cycles

garnished with rubies.


Honey, fertility is pretty

and so is the electricity.


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Hello, fellow bundle of nerves and flesh! I'm a simple little being who's half-poet, half-scientist, and all gelatinous chaos. Sort of like an illogical marshmallow. If you'd like to learn more, please seek out the "First Impressions" page. Thank you for the visit, bundle friend.

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