26/4
I want to gobble words. To mince and chew and grind, the teeth sharp and snug around each syllable: gobble, gobble, tow and trouble, till meaning
rends itself to nothingness, the white gleaming like a bone-white skull.
Blank nights, white light, the moon blooming like a flower into the back of my head. Like a pair of eyes disc-like, just the right size to fit into the palm of my hand; snug in the socket, a false eye looking out upon a perpetually dazzled sky.
Perhaps there is something wrong with me. Missing irises, a phantom eye with floating tentacles dangling in the universe-ether. When the thunder rumbles, I feel it
deep in the inside of my bones. I can feel it heaving under my skin, an earthquake quaking with each exalted breath.
And the lightning, flash-white, snow-bright, bleaching the hollow of my heart the colour of un-being.
I miss it- something- a kernel, core. A little jewel, buried deep in the inside of me. A dirty, black oyster's pearl. Dirty, smote with dream dust. A black smudge of nothing, dirty
upon my fingerprints.
Perhaps- womb, claustrophobic core. Limbs clumsy and clenching earth, a clutter of bones crisp against the earth's belly-- birth, in(side)- un-being, snug-in--
in-between breaths, a tiny spark flickering.
