slip the sliver ball off my nose rose fell off & rolled to the next town over. i am not in control of my gorges or my cavities. in a past life, i was a bull or a bushel. stigmata flower bloom opens in my palms at night. i hold up my hand to shield myself from the moon but the glow bleeds through. the back of my earrings slip between floor boards & gather in the basement like insects. shimmy in the shells. my uncle has two baby teeth left in his mouth. they're small & stubby like grave stones. a pen cap can be a vessel if you're only transporting a single strand of hair. i'm clogging the drain with my sleeplessness. i'm feeding the lyric to the bears. fingernails, like horseshoes, tossed at the floor. i was never iron enough to survive. a piece is always leaving the whole. maybe this is what it makes to make a self & wash your face in the tiny sink each & every day. dust is partially little ghosts of dead skin. i tried to take off my skin last week & only removed my wrists. a head band can hold a skull together on those certain days. i hand a lover the needle & thread & ask him to enter me slowly through his favorite opening. i secretly hoped he's choose my ear but instead he sewed my lips shut with just one stich. the oven is on with the door open. i'm cooking a chair for dinner. the town over isn't a town, it's just a pile of everything that's passangered me. shoes & socks & teeth. when i wake up i'll check for new craters on my body & in the cold street outside.