Yet like grandfather I bathe before the village crow the dry chlorine water my only Ganges the naked Chicago bulb a cousin of the Vedic sun slap soap on my back like father and think in proverbs like me I wipe myself dry with an unwashed Sears turkish towel like mother I hear faint morning song (though here it sounds Japanese) and three clear strings nextdoor through kitchen clatter like my little daughter I play shy hand over crotch my body not yet full of thoughts novels and children I hold my peepee like my little son play garden hose in and out the bathtub like my grandson I look up unborn at myself like my great great-grandson I am not yet may never be my future dependent on several people yet to comeSourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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