9/11/05

The postman who said he wanted to get rid of some tonnage applied the stripes of nail polish in uneven patterns. Post-mortem, the cutaneous material continues to grow once life and breath has left the body, once the functions of the brain have left with the pulse. When the pulse no longer flutters however it’s over. The use of drugs accelerates this process, the organs damaged: the impurities no longer passed into the streams of sewerage that could be used for farming the crops that flower or leaf greenly, but not for tubers, since full disclosure requires the consumer be informed where the crops have been: on what have these parsnips fattened, whose blood oozed into the muck? What tumors were lanced before the turnip could prevail? Better if the crop rise into the air, untainted above the girdle, the slush of human fertilizer. Blood fattens the soil, a sensible and green alternative to its indiscriminate spilling in fields and valleys. Let the standard planted on high ground be an ear of corn or a beanstalk, better yet, let a sunflower sprout from shit and twist its face to its maker.