caps on parade
A sperm has a tiny cap on its head called the acrosome, which acts as a kind of "warhead".
Today humid pavement lifts my feet to hovering. My burnished throne wants to find itself in a park where there is grass to sit in, overlooking life—my throne has personality, panache. Ashen gumption, though, on torpid days. Tarot card tells me Scientist or Magician each time. Pictures shift before my eyes settle. My eyes never settle.
Snow falls and mothers call, reminders of mutability when nurses seem to have become cardboard movie-ad figures. Real-looking enough but essentially dead. Mutability, there is hope. Figuring a quadratic equation is not as futile as it might seem; neither is seeking root causes in the garden with a tablespoon. Think long-run. Go.
The river’s tent is broken. Sun darts in. You have a nice helmet, but can you fight? Chain on your pith acrosome and fertilise some wasted ideas. Hurry up please it’s time.
At precisely the right time, [the acrosome] is supposed to burst open and release enzymes that allow the sperm to drill through the wall of the egg.
Hurry please ride in an upside-down hot air balloon it's time. Do not fear death by how robotic scientists will be manipulating our brains. Each in his prison, thinking of the key, each confirms a prison. The river sweats.
Genistein made the acrosome rupture much too soon, the research showed. If this were to happen...it would prevent fertilisation from taking place. The chemical, genistein, causes sperm to "burn out" before they have a chance to penetrate the wall of the egg....
Sperm detail extracted from here; furthermore, I have outrightly borrowed from Mr. Eliot's The Waste Land. I know this too well.
Today humid pavement lifts my feet to hovering. My burnished throne wants to find itself in a park where there is grass to sit in, overlooking life—my throne has personality, panache. Ashen gumption, though, on torpid days. Tarot card tells me Scientist or Magician each time. Pictures shift before my eyes settle. My eyes never settle.
Snow falls and mothers call, reminders of mutability when nurses seem to have become cardboard movie-ad figures. Real-looking enough but essentially dead. Mutability, there is hope. Figuring a quadratic equation is not as futile as it might seem; neither is seeking root causes in the garden with a tablespoon. Think long-run. Go.
The river’s tent is broken. Sun darts in. You have a nice helmet, but can you fight? Chain on your pith acrosome and fertilise some wasted ideas. Hurry up please it’s time.
At precisely the right time, [the acrosome] is supposed to burst open and release enzymes that allow the sperm to drill through the wall of the egg.
Hurry please ride in an upside-down hot air balloon it's time. Do not fear death by how robotic scientists will be manipulating our brains. Each in his prison, thinking of the key, each confirms a prison. The river sweats.
Genistein made the acrosome rupture much too soon, the research showed. If this were to happen...it would prevent fertilisation from taking place. The chemical, genistein, causes sperm to "burn out" before they have a chance to penetrate the wall of the egg....
Sperm detail extracted from here; furthermore, I have outrightly borrowed from Mr. Eliot's The Waste Land. I know this too well.
4 Comments:
i wish i had a warhead. then life would be much easier to sail through. but then that's just my state of mind right now. missed you. been busy?
ah, shucks. busy and incoherent, i guess. i had to catch myself up in your neck of the woods.
never incoherent. i get you like i get the lines on my hands. and i have very many lines.
that's truly nice to know.
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