(no subject)
i can only assume, from the repetition of "clothing, oh my god! clothing!" one desk over, that the office administrator is, in fact, a house elf. and, newly freed, that she will soon destroy us all.
tell me, too, does one ever reach a point at which work is something other than the place you don't want to be on monday morning?
elsewhere:
: Untitled
we were born between sulfur
flares, my brother the
sailor and I. Our
father was a slim
column of flame that ignited both our
mothers, his a cave full of oil,
mine a lanced blister, red and sharp to
the touch. we
stumbled over brown lawns burned
into a gasp but did not come to the water
path etched into his back like a quail’s wing.
in a village filled
with salt we have found
a child burned tender as a shoe
lace who bears upon her foreleg the name
of our grandmother who has
evaporated now without sound.
tell me, too, does one ever reach a point at which work is something other than the place you don't want to be on monday morning?
elsewhere:
: Untitled
we were born between sulfur
flares, my brother the
sailor and I. Our
father was a slim
column of flame that ignited both our
mothers, his a cave full of oil,
mine a lanced blister, red and sharp to
the touch. we
stumbled over brown lawns burned
into a gasp but did not come to the water
path etched into his back like a quail’s wing.
in a village filled
with salt we have found
a child burned tender as a shoe
lace who bears upon her foreleg the name
of our grandmother who has
evaporated now without sound.