I present my armsin turnas usual.”Ah, your veins are hidingare they?””Yes”, I laughas usual.Needle slips in,needle slips out.Cotton balls tapedacross my forearms,I return home,perforated. Read.
Concerning me—my ancient wombis acting weirdlyI presumb.For now they saywhen there is roombto fit me inthey will exhumbthe insidesas if from a tomb.Dear ladies, check—and don’t assumb. Read.
