plain sight

I pushed slivers of ivory up along my gumline, up under the cheek, the eyes now pulled back a little, which they said would make me appear mysterious but accessible. I was a public thing now, and needed preservation if I was going to be displayed. I was initially uncertain, and felt dishonest, but they told me I only believed in the honesty of the blank page, of the undialed number, of the sour masturbatory fantasy held so long the semen has yellowed, and so I took a rotary drill to the bridge of the nose and ran the fat of ballerinas rendered in their prime along the bumps of the spine, shadowed with soot to suggest the nobility of scoliosis. This public exposure is necessary, I reminded myself, I cannot be found if I am not visible, and I filled my boots with shaved ice to perfect the stagger we agreed best flattered my gait.