(no subject)
. i,i, this is i, me. wet, suspension, this. is my body, light and skin which is indistinguishable from the water though i am distinctly feeling the water as wet, i float: i, pink and joyful, my fingers spread and the water runs through like heavy gold doubloons, like barley grain when i plunge my hand into the sack. the water tastes sweet but it's no good for breathing, it burns: who is this, then, a pair of hands out of the blue, noone lives in the water with its black heart but it's a woman, freckled and young, small brown arms holding me to her small brown breast and frowning at me, then smiling and she's holding me still and i'm flying, over alien dirt and strange flora & fauna, bright forbidding seaweed like a garden of bellydancers, quick shiny fish that stare & dart, birdlike.
.....
i'm trying to write something very moving; blood, war, instead it's
the waitress' crooked teeth, a twenty-four hour joint, everyone's smoking
and she's smoked fifteen since i got her, two hours ago, and i can't
take my eyes off her teeth. they look like the passengers on a late bus,
crammed together and belligerent. i'd be more abstract, but concrete's all the rage / when do they actually clean, here, not just wipe the crumbs around with a quick towel? why is there a blonde hair in my fries when there's not a single blonde cook, waitress, or customer?
...
jadegreen veined with crimson. undulating, hypnotic, waving soft as grendel's whiskers rustling as he breathes, and a snare / from sand to mid-sea, like finding half of a constellation and then forgetting what stars make up the rest of the torso. i suppose this is a dream, a strange dream about a mermaid with legs instead of a tail, her eyes black and big as a doe's.
....
shivering i woke, my skin clutched against my chest, rocks in my mouth. i was alone, the beach long and grey, reflected in the strange cloudy mirror that is the surface's sky. i held my face and tried to go back to sleep, to dreams of swift silver fish which i could catch if i had a trout's tail, like everyone else. the dull round edge of my knife digging into my hip, its cord twisted around my wrists, the knot too biting into me.
.....
i'm trying to write something very moving; blood, war, instead it's
the waitress' crooked teeth, a twenty-four hour joint, everyone's smoking
and she's smoked fifteen since i got her, two hours ago, and i can't
take my eyes off her teeth. they look like the passengers on a late bus,
crammed together and belligerent. i'd be more abstract, but concrete's all the rage / when do they actually clean, here, not just wipe the crumbs around with a quick towel? why is there a blonde hair in my fries when there's not a single blonde cook, waitress, or customer?
...
jadegreen veined with crimson. undulating, hypnotic, waving soft as grendel's whiskers rustling as he breathes, and a snare / from sand to mid-sea, like finding half of a constellation and then forgetting what stars make up the rest of the torso. i suppose this is a dream, a strange dream about a mermaid with legs instead of a tail, her eyes black and big as a doe's.
....
shivering i woke, my skin clutched against my chest, rocks in my mouth. i was alone, the beach long and grey, reflected in the strange cloudy mirror that is the surface's sky. i held my face and tried to go back to sleep, to dreams of swift silver fish which i could catch if i had a trout's tail, like everyone else. the dull round edge of my knife digging into my hip, its cord twisted around my wrists, the knot too biting into me.