I've been
Catheterised, cannularised,
Anaesthetised,
Overhyperstimulated and hospitalised,
Then paracentesised
And I want to
Do it again,
I like it.
I've shed blood
Mucous and tears,
Delivered cum,
Pissed
And spread my legs
Entered by unyielding apparatuses
And I beg you to
Shit on me again
It's fun.
I've gained,
Loved, lost
First lonely,
Now alone
And still with more to lose
Come get it -
Take it from me,
Yes!
I dare you.
Don't finish with me yet
I'm stripped
And naked
But there's still my flesh
My eyeballs
And my soul
And when you think it's over
Watch me bending,
Pleading,
"Please sir,
Please, I want another."
There are fish again in the Aral Sea.
Fishermen are casting nets. Weathered boats are patched, repaired. The people, learning to row again.
The markets are filled with seafood once more. No longer a distant delicacy. Old recipes appear, renewed.
Older hands remember, quick, the flick and twist of scaling knives. The cut and shove of gutting knives. Unconscious memories of the flesh.
Long-forgotten things return. Welcome, cloaked in familiarity. The taste of trout. The feel of water.
The tenacity of life.
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