The bodies that have no bound, the boundless bodies. They break and scatter themselves across their oceans and their sky, grotesque, bent, far apart. Do you remember the sound of my mother hammering the chicken’s bones? The skin of it expanding vastly like the black and blue night sky over its broken bones … So, “What are those bodies?” I ask. Those legs running away from their feet, those toes turning inward to reach back into their dark chasm. Those nipples sinking deep into their back, and the neck stretching far up beyond the mourning moon. Those bodies do not break but hang wide like a butterflied skin. … Hold me, because, I am falling apart, and I cannot see, where I am facing. I am not dead, you know, I am just losing my bounds.