The intestine is a second brain

by giodiesis

The leader has lost control, his woman has run away, body and mind, respectively. Every member of the pack is free to choose what to do and she has found her independence, at last.
The heart has instinctively reached a decision and is pumping so hard that it makes muscles inflate and tissues stretch. Blood is spurting out of the pores like foam, like stormy waves against the rocks. The heart wants to burn up all energy in a single beat.
The other organs are easily parting with each other, darting away, one by one, from the outermost to the innermost, with the help of the centrifugal force created by the rotation of the body.
The arms on one side and the legs on the other, each finger by itself, vertebras and ribs all scattered around, the tongue far away from the palate, the bile from the liver.
The grey matter is desperately looking for its man, twisting its convolutions like a snake in search
of its tail, floating in mid-water. ‘The intestine is a second brain’ a woman he loved once said
talking about her constipation. It perfectly imitates the grey matter, absorbing water and
evacuating meaningless sentences.
His genitals have become enormous, his cavernous body hasn’t allowed the blood to spurt out, but it has tried to absorb as much of it as possible, and now it is standing upright and proud, like a mushroom waiting to be picked by a woman. This is all he can do, all he wants.
So kidneys and lungs are performing their usual activity but with less conviction, by inertia, out of habit, out of ineptitude: they are filtering water, filtering air. They are wasting a unique opportunity, maybe they are aware of it but they don’t care.
His eyes don’t want to have anything to do with the world anymore, so they have closed their eyelids, encouraging the development of the other senses: each of them has to take its responsibility at last.
His tongue crawls away regretfully – it would have been amazing to tell this anecdote. It doesn’t
know exactly what it is going to do when it grows up, it would like to learn to write, provided it
can hold a pen.
Flesh, tissues and nerves seem to be motionless.
All is calm now. An endless rain is already cleaning the scene.