A Poem: being, bodies, blood

Bodies–I wonder if you know whether the vein bleeds.
Yes. It seems to bleed.
It seems to me like a continuous thing, material with emotion.
Covered—skin, flesh, articulated with muscle and bone.
Blood–And then if one should dare cut—what a thing of it!
What an infant?
FUCK!
That, like dreams, is fuckery.

Being–And what of those things called emotions? 
As if controlled by other things, and those by others.
Sweeping, wholly, constituting ourselves that—let’s face it—
Pervade the flesh.
It alone sows up the dark and light!
Oh, what sweet indifference now!
Those things that change sex.
Those things that alter gender.
Those things that fuck us.

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