Overpopulation--Spring 2007

Man, I fucking long for it--
the swimming, the cutting, the cutting free--
the human fences, the forced connections, the
missing--
plodding through cellulite, blood not able to
congeal due to motion, once again, the SWIMMING

The bones.

There will be mass nettings, networks,
fishermen's nets in China made of people,
babies,
animals eaten alive for the gluttony of life--
eating dogs no longer the joke of Korea, but global--

Eating creatures to create space--

for more cellulite, the cheese of it, porous, now
clenched.
The clicking of bones and teeth
clattering like plates on a grandmother's floor,
the linoleum thud--

There will be blood,
viscous, but ever thinning with sweat.
It will flow like water between our thighs and
joints, crevices of skin

between folds of meat and death,
which in this new world are the same.
And life.

There will be no arguments, no conflict.
Only crying and sandwiched flesh and fluids,
the coalesce.
Again, a sort of collective wail and undulation,
a song of corpus.

Life becomes us.