abrasive raze sandpaper pries loose remnants of the mud i've made no hard bristle needs to taste the aftermath of my last meal let this coarse second skin bite away the bruises my teeth can't trace with a mouthful of bleach six years past its best 220713 ... tender_square i plucked the shell from the creek beyond my campsite. it was thrust up in the muck, blending with the browns. excess dirty clung loosely to its ridges. back home, i bathed it. slathered a baking soda clarifying mask over the surface of its curves, believing it would enhance the beauty beneath. when that didn't pry the discolouration pigment free, i concocted a solution of water and cleaning vinegar, let it soak overnight. the toothbrush bristles caught themselves in the shell's pearly glue, iridescent blobs of mineral and sustenance. the mixture was abrasive, weakening the substance of this shell, creating tears, a transparent spot light could pass through. total disintegration. part of me wants to discard with this piece kept as an homage to a weekend of self-sufficiency and solitude, thinking it ugly. where is the origin, this notion of unworthiness, for the muted umber and the rusted penny? this shell became revealed only after existing at a depth; should it not bear the those shades of endurance? girl, i think you've miss the point. 230912 what's it to you? who go blather from