*(#########/###%##%###,###%%%%%%## %#((((((#((( **,.
noticing the stone forming beneath my nipple
i lift it out, and roll it between my forefinger and my thumb while I lay on the towel, while I pat myself down
allowing my eyes to swallow the time
its lack of taste
sits too close
there are objects around
that offer some bearing
that look out of place
that say something violent about paths in life
back then, i looked down as the stone found behind my nipple dropped somewhere near the dishwasher. the nerves on me dragging over staffy scratch marks in the floorboards, fraying out from the bottom of my jeans.
Here there’s new company and a long hall, there are stems wrapping up the legs and over my chest, representing an outline. this kind of change is all wet
please wear nothing on our date, to keep all of those fibres away
At dinner, I show you this skin graft with rice paper confidence
voice of each wet stem
first is the chilli
talk hot state your case for internal people
it's like a condom skin and split you can see my grin behind it heheh what if I poke my tongue through
i just found how to sit around each of you
how to swallow time again
if i saw the wrong person on this street
i’d have to spit it back out
.., %*,***//**//////((((((#(((((((#(( *%# ###(#& ,***,
love i made it over the pavement to that street. there’s lights down there that will flatten you for a second or two, when they come down the hill darling, i care about you
at this house supplies only came every three months. flour, salt, tins and preserves, 10kg of butter, lifted into a crock filled with brine, a frozen pizza, orange juice. lines laid across other lines by telegraph, eventually just this one great ping, linear, quiet, a wife imagines
behind the building I sit writing on the little iron seat. the tea tree clicks with insects like it was down the beach, where my family used to gather
around the patio
watching all the mock-fish shared in communion
the hole drilled in the salt shaker
how few doors were opened
the guests that got fed but weren’t ever really met
the dinner going on under the table
another between the bricks
another in the bushes
chirping, humming, off in the sand dune I am
tracing a finger around my navel
the insects and the pussywillow remind me now of your parents and how the land on the coast is so kind and indifferent
wrapped by rockpools, kissed by ducks, hearth and hill, you are fed by those affordances. the spell for our urgent outpour, a gentle admission, play, sex
scale found
smooth wet rock
skin and oil
sunlight strobing
threat of passing strangers
call of a bird
no good name for anything here
for all of this really
us settlers are aliens in role play, while fucking outdoors
making another stage, those promises
how keenly they’re distributed
we stumble out below it
and the violence laddered through
_____________________________________________________________________
/,******////((##,%####%##(/.#&%(###%%%%%###((#(#(((#(#%# .,*,.
I’ve been enjoying these nights
thank you keyboard but your
coddling just
isn’t good for me
my friends write a lot about notions like care and desire
and I get it
darling care spoiled desire,
with its misleading moral precedence.
i could go on like this
mopping words in my letter,
i could coddle this too.
the spill,
the edit,
insight offers me more intimacy than faculty,
as i listen back to my own feeling many times over,
this is a tape recorder and a fizzy silver can of beer
which sentiments have met their use
which acts will be re-staged only in order to better precede the next
here’s an apple kept only for its redness,
as I chop between this letter and ours