We ate Honolulu cake for breakfast
The pineapple juice was spiked with grain alcohol
flying lights in the strange music
whirling constellations of pauses and blinks
breaths and sighs, heartbeats and gurgling intestines.
The body voices its intentions musically.
Every function serves as an organic instrument, throbbing, drumming, boiling.
The rhythms touched something primitive within me.
Like a protozoa forced to mate in a mirror
a coupled coupling.
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