And why do you reckon there are so many cameras proliferating? It’s certainly not for the narcs. So many symbols for eyes. So many replications or extensions of the real eyes. And why put daisies along the trail? Why pepper the hillsides with mustard? Why the edge of the cloud orange only when the sun …
Why not act out a wonderful, simple play . . . right here on earth . . . for the gods in the front rows or for the seats of the gods who might be there some day. To be more fearless in a quest for truth. And that means drop the bullshit like “quest …
And I want to be kissed by the creature inside me. Knowing she’s death.Knowing she’s written on my recipe. I want my tongue to go over the rigid row of her upper teeth.To give a sense where none may be. In a pretend tomb looking for a way out.Just like a birth. And you’re awake …
Maybe there are no words for this.Maybe just paintbrush strokesand confetti wilderness. I am the inheritor of you. The breast wider than an athletic build. Wings out and tips curling around. The faintest of circles from a bird sensing a curve. And I am in progress.
And what are you? Look at your hands. You’re dying. Your shell is cracking and thinning. The purple return vessels are coming to the surface, showing the re-route of depleted blood. What are you? A bag of salt water and plasma churning around nerves and bones. Eyes looking. Absorbing things that seem to matter but …
