i am becoming a monument of
constantly procreating osteoblasts,
stacking and clustering and thickening into walls and rods
long lines and curves of off-white infrastructure–
great dirty-colored tunnels where marrow midwifes birth erythrocytes
bathed in hemoglobin afterbirth, one after another.
by now the population per capita
should have reached maximum levels–
enough to warrant mandatory executions
(in the form of T-cell attacks),
but this nation’s leader is greedy.
he wants more traffic on the venal highways,
more round red businessmen;
he wants more neural CEOs talking too loudly
on synaptic cell phones– and really, if any more of them get work
those annoying Nokia PTT phones will amass multimillion dollar profits
on this one body-country alone.
i think he likes that idea.
he’s a rapacious and ruthless leader
and everyone hates and loves him in equal measure;
they built him this monument to reside in,
and even gave it a lovely dusky melanocyte finish
that glows golden in sunlight.
(i believe you might go so far as to call it a sort of epidermal pyrite.)
i am becoming a monument
to the efficiency of capillary toll booths,
of fertile dermal fields tilled by muscle cell farmers;
i am a statue to commemorate the imperfect perfection that is humanity,
and here i stand.