Originally Published August 2009
Just inside the shadow at the edge of the woods is a pile of shit my dog left. It fell like a thud on a pile of dried magnolia leaves and there I left it-to dry up, turn into white powder, and blow away in the wind. When it blows we will breathe shit dust, comment on what a beautiful day it is, how it looks like rain, how we love the smell of freshly cut grass, how the fresh air will do us good.
Every day we breathe shit dust. Every day we drink purified urine. Every day we shed skin, hair, mites. Blood drips from our faucets, slime slides from our caves. We invest and infest and infect.
Every day we breathe shit dust.
No comments :
Post a Comment