the woman made of eyes takes a trip to the salt flats and cries out. she doesn't look much like herself anymore, but at least we have a place to go float come summer.

take out your hard parts and put them in a drawer. take them out at night, and sitting on the corner of the bed, turn them in your open palm. hold them up the blue light from the window. slip them in and breathe deeply, run your hands up your abdomen and memorize their placements with your fingertips, but leave them in the drawer when you go.

a peach halved on a plate, which has rotted from the center. mercy comes soft, blackens our cheeks and eyes.