[040]
07/17/2008 02:45 p.m.
scraps:

Chicago bears its hot breath as I sit rolling my fat in great tubes across my belly --
it talks like debaucherous lovers, how they make just enough promises to still you
for a moment, all raspy and lipless and smelling like dogsweat and your neighbor's
cooking.

I know, all in numbers and names and grams and globules, every item of food I've stuffed
into these tubes today. I'm glad that when we wrap ourselves around each other, all
angles and soft bits that give way, we stick like great sacks of flesh and leather.

We are: bumpy, veiny, ingrained, grainy and digging, digging, digging for bones
underneath each other's subdermal fat.