give me back my blood and
i will give you yours.
i am crying into tomatoes
i am scrying with wheat flour
and there isn't enough black
pepper in the deccan plateau
to satiate my flaming roots.

i have just received a message from
the yavana tribe of iron india, and
they sent it through a slow red
river warm and creamy. do you care
to know what they said? of
course don't, you never have, and of

course i will insist to tell you. "he sinks you,
he covers you, he stifles the breath
of your core." they are ionians and
thus they understand the pain and peril
of drowning.