From inside a joint test.

Then there was that morning when your tooth popped out of your head, the one to match the cat tooth in your pocket plucked fresh from the catskull, and you wonder why you feel so spooky these days. And then your lip ring falls out while you eat and the oggunchain on your ankle falls off in your sock, you who were hooked and later untangled by the iron god and you're still not still enough to say thank you. The only thing anyone sensible could say is that this sea is getting just a little rough.

What's hard to know right now is whether there is a right and a wrong way to do this. I wonder if we talk to the dead because we are afraid of letting go, or. If we are wrong about letting go to begin with, like if we don't have to say a complete goodbye to let each other go on with the next stage, because the next stage is never really a completely next stage, but always carries blood and bone from the one before, and the saliva and the cum from the one after. Except.

The mother of decomposing steps in and she steps in a very precise way. This is the body in the dirt and that's when I start to work. I am Astarte-led to see you here so soon doggam doggone. Maybe you don't need to let go, maybe things getting taken away is letting go enough and maybe this is all it can ever be what it is is all it can ever be.


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