It's about that night Owen cut my gut, put in a Ruby and spoke

          herpes to me. It's about Number – how it is everywhere

          anywhere. It's about that night Owen chewed off my left hand

          and grew a spider for me; that night Owen chewed off my left

          leg. It starts in a car but ends in a bath, somehow. There's an

          eel in there too, in my mouth, twice. Owen's a painter, he

          paints realities, believed implicitly. His voice was so clear I

          don't remember a thing he said. Owen is my gunkMother. I'm

          his baby. By the end I always feel dead. 
 

 
A crack opens in the membrane, anticipation drains my cortex of blood – sends my skull

buzzing. A cold edge, the sign reunited with flesh – pain kisses me swiftly

in the belly.
Owen's rice-paper lips split my skin. His tongue: a sharp wedge pushing

the cold prismatic centre in.  Owen lives inside me radiating fire light geometry.
I watch through my eyelids – street light comets career over head, a trail of algebraic

formulas sing with the flat thrump of tires on rough road outside.
Owen's heptagonal voice spreads cavities in my mind

flesh holes in my sky ridge, his creeping serpent infects my flesh.  Owen is the voice

inside the dark well of this virus – iris lips kiss my belly from inside.
I drink his word sounds – liquid sand suspended air in take. A bloated eel decomposes

inside this evolutionary vessel, a tongue turns in my mouth. My left hand and foot waver.

Each pore a vital interruption in the veneer. I scrutinise the integrity of my composition.
Owen's in the corner eating shadows all around me with fingertips, enveloping

ba by bo dy my body is a baby, worrying. He pulls at my throat – seems very real now,

carries: sea weed green bottle suspended sand vermilion Ruby rattle, lifts it to my eye –

sea weed green bottle green weed sea throat see see see vermilion sand sounds under my

tongue – with in my nerves.
Owen watches me from behind curtains – from 3rd step     chest     caged ribs listening

for my heart beat babee babee babee. Owen lifts me from the bathtub capsule cradle

runs lips across my skin, chews my left foot off at the ankle, comes from curtains

runs lips across my calves, comes from step, sucks at the back of my knees

with creeping serpent flesh – pausing, leg in hand…Owen watches a moth fight

on coming     head lights.
Owen's crystalline face radiates nebulous symmetry, light emanates from 10 co-ordinates,

exits my stomach at the ratio 7 to 3. A fire light geometry. A hole in my sky ridge

closes, Owen has woven a fresh skin sack contains me underthick airwater

my bones grow moss. I hold my nose, there's an eel in my mouth. Owen performs

clenched jaw surgery – my left wrist is exposed bone teeth marks, tourniquet of newly

wound hair tightens, pain patterns the wall with ancestral designs show time of death

sex     melting point.
His spiders leap across the room drinking in the sounds emanating from the stone

under my skin – rearing up – the curvature of their heads caught in the light from his eyes

strike fire fucked fangs into my severed wrist create me a new spider hand grafted

to my body    baby     by Owen    the gunkMother.
My left spider watches me. It is strong. 8 nimble fingers crawl around dragging my arm

behind them – an abdomen melded to my wrist, dark hair contrasted to my blonde.

My left spider wipes the sweat from my brow. It frightens me. I close my eye mind

fluid     chest     pain  warps   sand   air    sack   surrounds   me – world      expands

contracts expands         contracts.        I see in 4/4.
Owen's fingers fan pigment: futures spill in to sand: a fire glass amalgam.

Owen's tongue casts phonemes, patterns in waves encircle me in vocal sensitive sleeve

skin snake shed thread bare in can tations roll in with the swell. Owen consumes

birth sack slides from before my eyes vertigo gondola pitches my Venice is sinking!
Owen stands beside me – bun dled  vi bra tion trans lu cent ap par i tion so lid im plod ing

phan tom. My left spider runs dark legs across his hair – neck – chest – nipple – feeding

scars with in crimson skin. Viral tendrils fondle my nerves, invade my equation.
Owen feeds a new space freshly ground Jasmine flesh – the pigment of white. He offers

me a bloom, pale lips speaking scent with out breath. Around me Porcelain grows cold.

My left spider is crying, trying to climb out of this bath. Vermilion Rubies flow from me

rattling down the drain.