As I practice a midline.

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I sit upright. And think about ends and desire, what passes through and does not.

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My mouth and my cunt. And how I set it into motion.

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A digestive system, absorbing and consuming.

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A wholly hole, wholesome and hollow. Swallowing. 

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As I practice a midline.

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I make long strings of spaghetti. Linearity as trajectories trailing traces. 

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Of consumption and reuse and labor.

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Red lips and food for the commoner.

 

And it molds and folds as strings for imagery and projection. To follow along. 

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To fall into and out of line with. Hollow insatiable desire. Swallowing. 

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As I practice a midline.