In Yourself I Mitochondria: mighty conqueror, horse made of milk and egg white and the insides of gutted seashells, sword wrought in a dying star and sharpened with a thousand cutting true words creator, lips weaving spiral galaxies of what-ifs and could-bes writing memories into soil and wishes into trees II Cancer: cursed, like a rotten swear word besmirching naivety lines of intricate programmed numbers surrendering to a row of useless zeroes scored in worthlessness accident, the lid of Pandora’s box left open upon the dresser while the demons and the furies and the sorrows trampled their way over hope to freedom III DNA: ladder, climbing your way through a dreamer’s mind with angels leaning on your rails as they escape into higher places where nothing is blood-drenched and ugly braided 28