In snatches

Level Zero - 1/10/2002
I am a vegetable. Turning toward the sun hurts my eyes cause I'm so used to looking inside myself. I wonder about the properties of liquid nitrogen when desiring that my kin are preserved in something more exotic than salt water - I am a vegetable.
I am a mother seal. Looking for her pup to suckle. I swim in the salt seawater with the mackeral and fast silver fish. I open my mouth as a dish to net what I'll serve upon a plate for dinner. I am a mother seal.
I am a CD case - I was misplaced by the Grandfather who felt his children's children were being cheeky and were ignoring him. He chucked me behind the old Peranakan style wardrobe with the awful hard brown carvings. They've searched all over for me, but dare not go near Gong Gong's dangerous wardrobe with its jewel eyed monsters making strange procession over frame and handle. I am a CD case.
I am the dance. When music runs about the heels and turns still beings into motion mills, I plan and strategise the next surmise of movement. When I come down, the ladies frown a curtsy and the men hurry to meet me. The names used to greet me - Fadango, Salsa, Ballet, Jazz - I come to own, muscle and bone become fluid with me. I am the dance.
I am the sound of squishy toes. After they ran through the garden mud on the pretext of hosing down their feet, they decided to linger on the garden swing, fleecing time with rhythmic ups and downs. Toes mingled with mud, playing footsie with other toes. I am the sound of squishy toes.
I am the baby made. After passion and naked tenderness, what is left? I am the baby made.
I am the photo frame that was given. I was first given as a gaudy sea shelled gift on a birthday as remote as the exotic exoskeletons that line my border. Through a succession of "Oh No"s and "It's horrible"s, I passed from birth to death, from wedding to anniversary, from the altar to the garage heap. I am the photo frame that was given.
I am the word that was written. Before I appeared in blue black or multicoloured ink, perhaps I lingered at the corner of his mind. Perhaps I snickered when I danced away as he grappled furiously to pin me down. I gaffawed as when stars burst as his typing fingers failed to stroke me into existence. I skipped like pebbles dancing upon the wave lined surf. Then, sank onto the page. I am the word that was written.