membering
at a particularly painful period in my tiny life, he noticed the dulled, scratched surfaces marring my pupils, and he asked. he asked, because he felt it, too. he felt this pain, knew i had it lodged among every rafter within me.
and it was hard to open my mouth to say dayspeak, typispeech, so i walked farther over, just a bit, and crouched. such stuck inside my mind. tired vices, i did not know how to explain with obediant words. and my eyelids weighed six months' worth.
he asked what. what. what. --so i handed him a few slanted wobbly poems or scrawl of poems (i had written while sinking against the eroding slide of soil in dark neons in dark light, in the squared night; while sitting to the side in a hole, in a PIT and not really seeing or breathing but sensing and twitching). he paused.
came back a day later. and he said, "mb, these are beautiful, but at what price, you know?"
what could i say? to be poorly written, partly by stating the sickeningly obvious: what he said, that meant everything to me. i couldn't say anything to that.
and it was hard to open my mouth to say dayspeak, typispeech, so i walked farther over, just a bit, and crouched. such stuck inside my mind. tired vices, i did not know how to explain with obediant words. and my eyelids weighed six months' worth.
he asked what. what. what. --so i handed him a few slanted wobbly poems or scrawl of poems (i had written while sinking against the eroding slide of soil in dark neons in dark light, in the squared night; while sitting to the side in a hole, in a PIT and not really seeing or breathing but sensing and twitching). he paused.
came back a day later. and he said, "mb, these are beautiful, but at what price, you know?"
what could i say? to be poorly written, partly by stating the sickeningly obvious: what he said, that meant everything to me. i couldn't say anything to that.