Vulgarity

How strange to think of everyone growing younger instead of older. Crawling, lost and mewling, on the ground; flopping, red and unkettled, with women locking their doors with shaking fingers and smoothing nervous hands over their flat abdomens. Or the old wrinkled baby sliding into an unguarded womb with the finesse of a magician’s rabbit, and then that womb’s woman folding into another woman’s womb. Russian nesting dolls in the belly of the ouroboros. And all of human history closing like a telescope to roll dustily on the floor with a nervous asthmatic whimper neatly befitting its place.