NOTES ON ANGUISH (2)

There's flesh and flesh.

I dream of a new flesh.

The atoms of that flesh adore each other

because they know nothing

about adverts for fat-free yogurt

or the rules of sizes in boutiques.

Echoes of the word comparison

have never reached the cells of such flesh.

Such flesh rejoices in its cracks,

in the labyrinths foetuses have left behind,

in the anonymous calls of urine,

in the excesses of fat.

Because it is immune to mirrors

no evil viruses inhabit such flesh.

It achieves perfect synthetic fusions

of brain and bone, flesh and skin.

© Miren Agur Meabe