ileum ovenbird We enter the train through its anal sphincter. Everyone acts like this is normal, this metal maw that unclenches enough to allow passage into the intestinal interior. Blue light illuminates the smooth colonic walls. Tinted windows allow only a hazy view of the world outside and I don’t know how I’ll recognize my stop. I sit on a long bench upholstered in cerulean velvet and let myself travel to an unknown destination where I will step from the platform of an untasting tongue and move, saliva soaked and half digested, into whatever body will receive me next. 260815 what's it to you? who go blather from