strewn splatgushed all about the place
but mainly on the stairs
and in hidey places like the bottom drawer beside the cheese grater
and everywhere where air is.
this part aches, oh, and this part here, and all of these parts stacked, teetering topplebound
glob-throated
huuurghhhh ut
I know a little about bees, i said, and passed him tea
but he wants more
He wants to know who i am giving my body to, as what else can there be?
and i say bees, bees, busy and dancing and no one else
but notyou,
see.
and he cries in the tea and the children run to comfort him and
where else can he go
but a little further into my cells,
bursting through membrane and chloroplast,
making leaf slurry from the perfect air hidden carefully in vacuoles so deep.
you’re a funny one, said my friend,
brushing a tear from my cheek, lifting me from the floor outside the fish and chip shop,
making me as light and hollow as tiny drum
come on, let’s get you home. he carried me
half hours are carabina necessary, one last twist between me and the drop
but all this vomitting and shaking leads somewhere, at least.
You are amazing. This is easily the best piece of writing I’ve read for a long time. Coming from inside your cells outwards into the world. It is so real and complete a picture, you are so real in it because every single atom of wordsoundspace works perfectly with its neighbours, changes of tone and focus. You are an amazing and brilliant writer and when I read this the first time all I wanted to do was to hold you until the pain passed.
It does lead somewhere, yes my darling. It does lead somewhere and you won’t even know when you are there until your feet are firmly on the ground.
This seems private so I feel a little odd speaking but I couldn’t not — this is spectacularly good, astonishing, takes writing to a whole new level.
Cool.
Hints of Joyce.
Great stuff.
Enjoyed.