tricking your body to starve
is a labor of love
a dedication to the higher ideal
these various techniques and
a willingness to pique an interest
in uncomfortability
traipsing thin and weak,
my beautiful legs and their skin
ripple in the wind like a bug
ripples on a pond.
Splashing in sinks
splashing and sinking,
bubbling and frothing
by the mouth.
the sweet godly nectar is
visiting fruit trees and
harvesting my potato salad.
under the porch
the hounds eye my meat
No comments:
Post a Comment