When times are hard, I think about all my brothers and sisters that have diffused through tampons only to be flushed down the toilet until there is a huge clog,
there is shit shit shit floating everywhere with my mother standing in the middle, a perpetual shrug of confusion as a postural bias.

I think about all my brothers and sisters that have spun ingratified into the spermicidal vacuum of a prostitute's vagina.

a mitotic determination flung me onto land, a mass defined by random chance whereupon this undertaking:
the perpetual search to regain prokaryotic destiny, the attention to detail so minute you can hear the RNA whisper its announcements when you are watching T.V. and it is the annoying commercial interlude