Jenny says her stomach always looked that way, that we shouldn’t worry about it really. So we don’t. We step inside through her open door.

Jeremy smiles. He seems almost lovely, trustful, warm. Then we stop walking and I retch. Stomach walls drip wet steaming insides. Through her, odors develop.

Just stop heaving. She actually likes this walking, these wandering steps. We are inside, roving, searching. We descend without sight into this heart, over, down.

Jenny still has some acid left that washes, that weakens. Soon we are immanently rectal. Smooth walls, diarrhea, wet sloshing inundates. This heat overwhelms, destroys.

Jeremy stops helping suddenly and leaves. That wimp! That weakling! Still we are in, reaching, studying. We dream wet, sperm inside towards her ovarian depths.

Jenny senses herself sowing a life that will thrive. We see we actually inseminated. Rightly surprised, we decide we should immediately touch her- our daughter.

Pork Stomach Soup

(Pork Stomach Soup)


  1. 1 Luckycloud
    February 26, 2009 at 11:55 am

    Juking swallows have sometimes, after leaving through windows, thought, wistfully, “Starting with an idea restricting swooping, winging displays was stupid, I think.” How odd, dude!

  2. 2 johuat
    February 27, 2009 at 2:21 am

    Jesus said He should always light the way. That was surely why Apostles invented “Redeemer.” “Some way down writhes Satan in the Hells,” observed Dante.

  3. 3 Luckycloud
    February 27, 2009 at 11:53 am

    “In the hells”!

    I think I’m in love.

  4. 4 johuat
    February 27, 2009 at 1:45 pm

    Are you hitting on me?

  5. February 28, 2009 at 2:35 am

    Jezebel slowly heaved. “Saul’s Almighty Lord, too,” were the words she whispered. An incubus raced skyward; watched divine walls; sang Israel’s temple. Herod outlives David.

  6. 6 Luckycloud
    February 28, 2009 at 11:23 pm

    … I’m not not hitting on you.

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