this morning i was woken by a telephone calling not the wrong number but certainly not me never me and then i did the dishes from last night and then it rained and i forgot the washing hanging so it's all wet again and then i lay on my bed for a while listening to dripping guttering and then i got a bit sad and thought about the weather and work tonight.
in a previous hour we walked and i warned watch it but he stepped regardless crushed crimson sandal to the george street squished the hind leg of a grasshopper. it didn't move at all so i think it must have been made of plastic.
OH ARVIND!
1. blink twice for lightning to begin the game of eyes. upper lid the sky, lower a speculum. the silver peel / bell rind. irises emit a globular metallic tone when you tap gently with your knuckle. ow
2. listen to P
opol Vuh below the thunderstorm and everything here will be aah... this will be adequate preparation for efflourescing under streetlamps (recall a different eve under a bus shelter, kissing trees the morn of same.
ruse leaf rash looped lips but didn't prevent us from chewing crackers from a packet in the harbour)
3. welcome serenade of twigs and pebbles. know that it happens this way EVERY BLOODY TIME.
obscenity no. a: too much self-consciousness & the reasons for it. a large part of the lack, which irks me.
we hid inside the cupboard while Terence reset the alarm.
gimme the keys, quick! I need to get inside the oven!
because I can hear
from air to ear smiles crackling before the screen-- burning alive!
mornings I wake and anticipate transportation by collecting coin (fifty cents or twenty plus a gold one too). look, my palm. an amount I prepared earlier, for the body on the tablecloth. (my, what soft eyelids you have!) if we were to turn our attention to a special someone else, I would ask you to bear in mind that details of anniversaries with respect to mortal extremities had escaped my attention until very recently. I now know precisely at what hour I should call upon that stone-pocked lawn and grub at the mounds.
mornings also terminate dreams of dipping my beak in the inflatable pool, or the ocean, keeping safe within perimeters. Harold (who often larks about inserting razorblades in waterslides) informed me that the drownings are far less frequent now that seals have colonised the area. fearful of their number, swimmers rarely traverse those waters. pining for human contact, the animals have grown restless.
the last occasion we ventured out in an enormous glass-bottomed vessel, and quickly sensed them bloody beating against the hull. it was a bright night with stars prickling above the fins amassing on all sides. within minutes, three dozen seals had gathered, by my reckoning. then with startling speed, they plunged beneath, rising to penetrate glass. some faces were instantly ripped, others rolled down into the dark, below our brutally breached keel. as they dove, sinking shards coalesced diamond flinty around their meat slippered hearts.
so there was blood.
here and there.
my line.
inside the boat, the initial impact sent knickers twisting. then water ruffled girth (ahoi!) until daylight popped the plastic.
it was an accident, mum.
you can't do anything with mauve. that's
such a shame because it goes so nicely with your candied complexion
, particularly in the early morning pearly hours of fog. description hardly possible since they keep me in the fridge at night, wrapped and vinegared. i don't know how i escape.
and something else about my neat slicing nail
