when my insides are turned out
When my insides are turned out I am walking liver.
Walking mass of vessels,
walking fleshy heart,
stripped nerves open air,
the line that they are stepping on, still stone.
Rather than fold them back in to stitch me together,
I would like to turn out,
turn,
and out,
until it is whole and complete,
circled,
until I folded out into myself again and the outer is one skin unbroken,
pulsing flesh live
and once again healthy.