day 19

i pick my nose.

sometimes with my index finger,

sometimes, with my baby finger.

mining it for wet emeralds that glisten green once within my finger's skin-nail cusp.

i do not experience them further, discarding them as sensations my nose has already

smelled by nature of where they came from.

my nose has already smelled it, so i don't need to.

i dig my ears, again with my baby finger.

the soft, yellow gel i'm met with reminds me of how my professors spoke of

graphite - layers of elements gliding against each other.

i massage this plasma between my thumb and index finger until it

disappears into the pores of my skin.

back to the body from whence it came.

i don't smell it, don't eat.

i want no sensation of it because my ear already heard it.

the back of my ear is a funny place. it's at the edge, in a hidden place.

i go there sometimes with my index finger. flakey yellow pastry is what i find.

it smells rancid. tastes bitter.

i experience it, because it's mine.

just mine. not my ear's or my nose's.

in a hidden place, in plain sight.

the back of my ear, is where i go,

to experience myself.