FIFTEEN SECONDS TO SELF-DESTRUCT. I light a cigarette. I
close my eyes and imagine dawn in the desert. Pink, orange,
violet, and crazy twilit blues. Enough of that. No time for
masturbation, but I can hold it in my hand and think. And I
smile. I consider spitting at the mechanism, but don't. No
anger left now. Nowhere to hide. It's fucking over.

GROUND ZERO. I feel much better now. A cancer has been
removed, and something old and forgotten rushes to fill in
the void. My leaves follow the sun's route in the sky; my
roots suck up the moisture. I try to think of my mother's
face, but it's like running across the dunes. When night
comes, I wonder if the stars are still there. It's
important, because I like smoking at night. Instead, I pull
my petals deep inside me. But the reincarnation was
successful, and there's no need to hide anymore.