We spin. In more ways than 1.
To keep track of them all she followed the line the zenith made right to the small daisy between her feet. Right of brain. Left of brain. Hercules straight on to morning. She folded the star map as she’d learned in arts and crafts and made a paper crane, envoyer son pouvoir à les accidents d’énergie nucliare. To the tattooist she said, “I want his sword 30 degrees to the right of my spine; his head barely missing my brainstem.”