if neo has a belly button who’s on the other end of the umbilical cord

Stella Wong

we take turns / taking pains 
on the days we stomach together. / you’re in 
prime / puking condition 

after a bloody-nippled marathon. 
idols are made / in amniotic fluid, clay 
and tough mudder usa. 

if you don’t / bug out 
when a squirming shrimp 
wriggles into the superhero’s umbilicus, 

you can withstand my public speaking 
on why babies are parasites. 
under the covers, I grew up / praying 

the late night news wouldn’t find me 
with their nightly bedbug / eating quota. 
you hide from me / your pillbox 

of an innie / and I’m already 
the depression of a good fender 
bender. what a rotten dream / I had 

a dreamsicle. with you / I’d like to be 
coppertops / or unicorned, 
traffic cones on our heads 

to spar / in a tunnel. like a czech lingerie model, 
you want your navel / surgically removed. 
those cylindrical orange ones are 

going for 80 to 122 each / once I looked 
up the nightmarish price 
of a highway barrel. it was going 

to be your present. the belly button 
gets airbrushed / on 
the idol / in post. real body / horror.