So, this seat of flesh I drew close about me. I caressed it a little, fingertips and nails leaving little white trails across the skin. Like lines on a sable plain, raising small rills of dust in the distance.
And once again the seat of flesh pops open, but I snapped it closed, locking my heart and esophagus up in their bony cage. They encircle, the ribs that is, they encircle, and I go to the circus woman who will, if I give her enough song money, punch them until they snap and crack. I watch her incoming fists, and see my entire wall of flesh moving, heaving like a massy sea. Her fist would break through into the red foaming heart, but no, I am too strong. I am invincible, strider of seas, wanderer of the mountains, and leader of expeditions seeking to ford the lonely stream.
Taking hold of the seat of flesh, as anyone would take hold of a sodden mattress, I drag it out into the open day, where it, stupid, blinks and stutters. I hold it up. “Anyone?” But there is no reply.
Ok, right this is now too much. I pick up the seat of flesh and I fling it out into the sea. I turn my back on it, but it is there waiting for me when I get back to the car. There is nothing for it. It needs to be whipped again. I sigh. I lead it into the closed space. I take out the whip, and it counts back to me, one, two, three. It splits, and little welts appear on the skin.
The seat of flesh itself sits at times. I feed it like a dog. It capers around, excited. So easily pleased. The fact that I burn it, whip it, and spit on it is all forgotten. Ah seat of flesh, when will I escape you! It just sighs and traces out in its own blood some words that I also write, just now, just for you, my quiet and dreaming reader: “I love you, John”