The gravity sanity patrol came to pick up the sanity bag. In the sanity bag I put what I did not need for sanity any more. Everything behind my back. The reality tent stake worked its way out, wind thrashes at shelter tent lifts off. I am lying face up eyes open breathing wind. If the tent stake was my tampon well it’s gone. Well I am finished bleeding. Asked you to squeeze me sponge. Water came out of me sudsy liquid gem now there were thumbprints on me. I felt better. The breeze began to populate my holes. I am still in your hand opening up, taking in the sweat of palm. “The autonomy of art has its origins in the concealment of labor” My heart beat very hard by itself.
