Beneath excellent Japanese knives, subcutaneous fat yields wetly.
Douglas slices through his belly with a surgeon's arrogance,
removes the part-digested Rustler burger
then administers the sealant - hot, clear glue.
He expects it to burn, his trigger-finger braced
against the impulse to disengage, green stars bursting
in his peripheral vision. He thinks of beach-ready bodies,
greyscale models on the cover of Men's Health
abs like giant ravioli,
crematoria.
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