||[Nov. 4th, 2006|01:57 am]
How are you, I wonder, up there where the world is a little thinner - thin enough to fold and put in an envelope? I'd ask why you never write to me, except I understand the distinction between collectors and other people.
I can't get up there, where you are. To many stairs - too much steel. So I'm sort of in Hell, stretched thin because I know you're up there and I'm not. That's why I'm writing this, because I'm fucking sick of wondering if every smashed something that falls from the sky used to belong to you.
There's mounds of it now, shining shards of might-be's and could-have-beens. There's even a shoe I thought could be yours.
You liked orange didn't you? The whole thing, not just some shade like tangerine or apricot.
Oh fuck this. Maybe I'm thin enough now, maybe I can fit in an envelope. Would you keep me with you then, all text and dry whispers?
I wish, just once, that you'd read what lay between my lines.
Maybe that's why I'm down here, snarling "Non serviam." with every other breath, wanting to carve your name on the grey matter in my head.
I hate fucking stairs love, that's all I ever meant."
...found it in a puddle by a pile of rubbish, crisp, typed, letters smudged by an oilslick puddle.
It floated there like a lily,
bereft of a froglet prince.
Folded it up,
put it on the wire chair and
gave the rickety contraption a push.
There was a squeaky wheel as it
passed into the silence of the long dead
Ignored the computer flex that bore grisly,
bloated fruit swinging in
a monoxide breeze.
into the wall.
Seeped through the
the world and its
All of it you see without knowing.
How can it
be otherwise when
you think you're supposed to
see with your
Instead of your
and tongue, you
squeeze meaning out of humours.
stuck without the memories of how
Mother's breast is before you,
unveiled. You never needed to be
apart from each
You could suckle forever
But you let
the pain of the
eye distract you and
you think yourselves alone,
If only you
The fleeting fragments
of kinaesthesia coalesced around
-which is what doing
is once you stop
and suddenly the
All the broken dreams, shattered mirrors of souls
Hanging Town Awaits.