In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

60 ON A BURST SOIL LINE Onions in sweat, sewage in shaving cream, burnt stick matches in piss. Not quite nothing, on the periodic table flesh is a grocery and mortal chemistries smellable in kisses. Iodine (anemic), garlic (diabetic), caulk (vegan), sepsis (smoker), fresh grout (babies). What lasts repeats on us but won’t always metabolize. The child of light that haunts this empty Trojan horse will have to find its way unhoused, unsouled, a speck in the big salsa. Gut and ileum in bubble bath, joint compound stool blood, metal gingival spit, leather espresso breath—flesh in everything, but never fresh, unmixed. Burst in the frost, the soil line has opened the family archive, all the sulfuric eau de low-down life we are, 61 l’eau de Me. The igniter pops. Flame paws the flux, the solder folds in the flame that’s always the same. ...

Share