remind me, i’ve got blood in other bits of me, sometimes i forget and forge it all through one tight channel at the top of my spine- this brine called brain relabelled “holder of all things that cannot be held.” relinquish me i’ve got bloodbaths of art to wash myself in and of. i’ve got treasures to chest and birthmarks to fake. i’ve got muscles to tend to and plants to consume. i’ve got consumers to feed and rake and bake and twist and mend and mold and i’ve got this giant cold sleeping on my shoulder, listening to me in the night, souring me in the day, calling himself winter, never letting me chest rise and fall with the supple glow of light. no light, no temperature, just winterfever. just seasonal chillbones. just crackling creaks from the slimy toes of the trees.