Plicae
circulares,
valvulae
conniventes.
Intestinal
anatomy
is already
poetic
enough.
And I only
wanted to
say something about the
folds and
folds of
flesh that
I wish were
my skin.
Mathematics argued: if I
increase my
surface area
enough
something
must
eventually
touch me.
As when I
dig my tongue into poem
after poem
after poem
it’s never
long before
one digests
me whole.
But that
is all my
tongue does. To unfold oneself
without
speaking
is complex mathematics