When I was thirteen I stepped into the grocery store and cut my stomach open and let my guts pour out over the iceberg lettuce. Those who used similes and alliteration said I was looking to cause a scene and wanted to lash out against my mothers screams. But those who use such simple things know just about as much as my toe knows. And I hate to break it to the good Lord but he made my toes and forgot to add the smarts. My aunt kissed my neck and caught a glimpse of my newly found piercing. “your body is a temple! treat it as such!” I had never heard this carriage of mine called a temple and I refused to clutter it up with such silly things. Tubes, veins and the squishy stuff in between. Take it all back I haven’t a use for it. My body is a temple a place for holy congregations and I don’t know about you but i’ve never stepped into a holy temple that actually had anything worth mentioning in it. So on the third day of December I split my stomach open and did a little spring cleaning during the winter winds and now here I lay. In this hospital named after someone who would probably appreciate my temple. With tubes surrounding me and there’s a constant beep from the box to my left and I’m confident that my sexual orientation was considered when placing me in this room. Tubes. I rid myself of something and the ungodly institutions shove them right back in me. “Oh Mr. Bark these are the good tubes. feeding you the good things and making you all good.” Good. What a silly thing. So as I lay here in this cold box having my temple repainted from the inside out I considered my aunt, I considered the nails attached to my toes and I worried for a few more minutes. Just long enough to make love to my bandages and slip off into a silly kinda sleep.