naturally protective reflex

Mayonnaise in my mouth; it was turkey—the first Pollack I saw. His fault that the splatter looked like a forgotten egg on the side. Walking toward the waste basket, I threw up in it after. It tasted like sour metal with rusty, iron edges. At the sides of it, not worth the gold tooth it's loosening now. Thinking on it makes me nervous, like it's going to be poison soon. I cannot avoid it, even if I wanted to now, even though I wasn't sure that was the kind of optimistic take I was looking for at the time. The way to turn even the worst of times into best of whatever your feckless heart has— just use it now because no one is at the deck taking down tallies for the sake of it. Please, just give over; express the things you have been saving. Hoarder of life and things and collections of it all, as a collector of it all, as a curator of it all, as if you even have a stall that would ever fit it all in, for jesus sake. And that's all it ever would be or ever would be not had you not hitched it to the big part of yourself that thought something in there was real and really in there, ready for a real repair, as only the cosmos can do for those that are ready for it. Ready for it. Ready for it. Ready for it. Revise and be ready for it.