of late i find myself dreaming of bones, living and dead:
and these days, i am afraid to open my mouth fearing that my ribcage may fall through; i could
live down the embarrassment of spilling such personal things all over my professor’s floor. what would become of my bones' mess spattered there on the linoleum,?—aint no reverence in science; &i could never put em back myself.
their new livid stench would draw forth so strong that vultures'd circle overhead like id been gone for weeks.