Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2012 v11n1
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The Homunculus Speaks from the Bed of the Ovarian Dermoid Cyst

You can call me your little man if it helps you when you think
of me I don’t mind it. Few things I understand such as this
spherical mass which must be my head and I have attempted
an arm though my skeleton is only a crispy shell and I do not
know what it is reaching for there is nothing else here
but the moist bed I am curled upon. My tooth says
I might not look like much of a tooth but I was made
for chewing. My hair says brush me I am tangling
in the greasy spillage of the tissue I lie on
the tongue that speaks for me I ride it like a magic carpet
we are getting bigger and bigger I do not know where
we are going. I am trying to keep myself together. I am
not trying to be so ugly.   

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