looking back up through the expanse of the milkbath
to the light-source, which forms nothing but a skin.
shaking the dill plant, wondering if that is a
protective ritual somewhere outside of the
protectorate. demonstrating a chewing motion
before each other, carrying out calculations to determine
the density of my or your body versus milk. skimming
through the letters and the binding agents, a wrist, a
writ, a writhing–repetitive singing inury, unhearing the
words, meaning one thing but meaning another. being
unfair to an imaginary partner. sucking threads of
dental floss through our nostrils. slowly swallowing
a raw sausage the length of your bowel. deadbeat
mimesis, you can no longer tell where your process begins,
and you decide to call it off. I’ll write to you about a train and
about rain (see how this is travelling?). Years ago I stood in
that station and understood how the death works as nobody
answers to the press chain. follow the tiles on the floor and
see if they form a line. imagine your shoulders are a
masked ball. find someone appealing to half care about and
treat poorly when it matters. the fish also seem to hate the
milk, their eyes sludging the opening. you nudge them in their
stomachs because of the jokes and the sausage departs; you,
running after it, your one arm flailing like two articulated
bits of the worst kind, an elbow dislocating, and your
maybefriend slapping it back into joint into joint.

This entry was posted in animals, flora, love, massacre, poetry, poison. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s