i loved my young life once. it thrummed with inner mischief, some transgressions maybe but all tongue, all textures, all translated through that funnel in my head.
there is a confluence influenced apparently by a fluidity of music.
30. I don’t know what to wear, so I tie sage around my left ankle, twists of garlic in my hair. I want to be Italian and edible. I add rosemary, thyme. Frying oils. 31. I brush my hair until it crackles onto the linoleum. 32. She could feel the remains of him seeping out… Continue reading Excerpts from “Flesh Graphs” by Brynne Rebele-Henry