(untitled 3)

1 February 2016

The throaty oesophageal tissue dislodges as if to say here be
nourishment & battle Keep going & Peer at the womb that
haemorrhages post-coitally Remove the tube & it’s still a sticky
mess So fraught & such Arcadia Didn’t you hear enough of the
brutality Erode your name it doesn’t lift me He outlaw’d coffee
Tore the stitches out with his tongue Rampant bills fettered Tear
my hair out All wanton debris Part-time venom surges at the
brunt of attack Move toward praxis and away again I have
outlived usefulness The utter stirring of cheerful standards
Renders us human Place the realm of agency into the volta
Unthinkable: the way you held me in your contract These days
we don’t even take our clothes off A million practices beholden
Textures of disobedience & textures of entry I am thinking of a
hiatal place: a rupture Remember child: he’s just a boy Just a
human boy He fills up & empties out same as all of us

This entry was posted in 53.0: THE END and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related Posts:

Comments are closed.

Please read Cordite's comments policy before joining the discussion.