From now on I will only eat snow. I want my heart to turn to liquid and sharp
like ice-melt. Its not that I want to hide from what I feel, on the contrary: I
want my heart to step for once out of its warm bath, and into the Atlantic. I
want this heart of mine to go skinnydipping on winters night, and feel its
teeth jet into its brain, feel every pore grow a needle, so that for a moment
it looks like a frozen porcupine. This diet, will clean by its frost, all of
the doubt that lays like soot in my gizzards, white feathers will wash the
sulfur and brick. Nothing will be left behind. Every organ will be abandoned,
the windows banging in the wind.
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