…………………………………...

I find myself behind the hymn, swaying.
(drunk). & singing. That is, to the extent
I find myself at all. Some times it is easier than others,
as there were other times I was drunk enough
to believe this, but don't tell that to my brain.
………Fusion of vat and brine...
19^thc. lactic acid methyl glyoxal hex, sacred as
the recorded history of ritual preparation distilled
I will drip to accrue more particularly meaning later,
and then pool myself about me. But for now...

millions of bacteria aggregate together
in teeming communion, hum

…………………………………...

…………………………1 part body, 3 parts-per-trillion feasting
…………………………wedges of micromatter. I feel all my cells stir-

ring to reproduce other selves inside me so rapidly
I'd be dizzy were it not for being outfitted always

to the old, soothing feature of their little cell
deaths, conferring the advantage of keeping me alive.

…………………………By the same chemistry I want to exit myself,
…………………………but a body is difficult to exit the world
…………………………inside unless I shit. But what can I do to escape
…………………………clean out of me unless by writing, the only other
…………………………way I know to. And I do shit now though without
…………………………even knowing how I got my body to do it in the end.
…………………………Sieve resequencing. Just think of all the words contrived

…………………………to describe decay:
"teeming," "crawling," "festooning,"
"seething," "ripening," "oozing," "festering" to imagine:

……—but don't those words sound so effusive themselves; alive, and unlike death
…………as germs flitting apostate on the surface, gathering up their
………………cells in a lush, chatty, cosmic party…… thrall against?—
…………………………………—600,000 more selves than the eye can hold—

I have this disease, but it soothes me. Like wine and cheese. I pucker up
quenched even as I'm consorting with it, only, it's more like a dance now

commanded by the foodborne bacterium I imagine
swarm on the countertop as I wipe it down in bleach