What matter would result if there were no body to contain these sensations - cramps, spasms, vertigo, delirium? An enamored garden untamed, contained within villi and concrete blocks … Would they stand forgotten, or simply hang against time, as material unknown, yet to be excavated by stethoscope or blood filled vile? I watch life crawl around these spaces - green, white, soil, tile - blue amidst the mystery of some universal, shared condition. My rib cage is inflamed and warm, your outer shell hard, yet porous like plastic, miniscule. This liquid bursts from the sphincter, shower head, silicone tube.