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— delicate wale:bones

    filigree and fragile

    winding in

snails and circles, a

fibonacci spiral of gold

like an ammonite

of eternal continuity and

perfection, an envelope

that dresses the body in

haute couture of its own

    anatomy —


    — but instead of 

its own uniqueness

it is caging its own

anatomy in determining

    ideals of confinement —


    — madwoman, madwoman

    madwoman, they scream

banishing her into an

asylum of glass

coffins, of bell

jars, of caves 

like Antigone once

an attic in wonderland

transcending its own 

    captivity through the 

    looking glass —

    — the page of my body

of my heart, contrasted in

black and in blue

like writing of the x-ray

building roads that lead

    to confinement —


    — the STEMI 

        of my hand —


    — is caging the ink heart

in my body that is

racing like the 

pulse of a madwoman in

the attic, that is writing 

    with the body —

Johanna Böttiger

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