| Sexions |
| Written by Vacancy | ||||||
| Saturday, 08 August 2009 | ||||||
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I. In her courtyard twice a week for a year anticipating rupture I would fold over; an embryo with three layers My messenger bag, concrete-heavy with text books. A concealed zip lock bag full of razors. A canopy of fine, blonde hair. II. "Do you identify more with being MALE or FEMALE?" "No" III. "Do you ever have thoughts of suicide?" "Arachnid eyes have devoured my discrete triangle over and over. Tonight I'm digging with all four limbs and my teeth into wet earth to find my other half. I call when I know no one's home just to hear the voice on the answering machine. Yes... Yes. Every single day. Tonight I'm tearing up the debris in the gutters where he waited. In the desert, there's a chasm, there's an orfice filled with red ink line-drawings of wings and his torn hymen to surround a shrine to self pity. In his bedroom, in the shower, he births with-teeth stop-completely-traffic-light mouths that cry out in fear. Frilly, pink flowers grow from infected cuts on his forearms. I called one night to tell him that he's the one I love. No one picked up. Deus ex machina. Addict. I can't get to sleep. I think about your dead fucking body. At night, I abuse my veins and close my eyes and I imagine myself spinning until I'm unsure of the geographical orientation of my horizontal body. Dizzy, I bury myself beneath the house in wet earth, and he's always there waiting with teeth to rupture, with eyes to scauld naked, with fingertips thick with mountainous ridges (to invade),with a skeleton barely contained by skin (to fall in love with), with limbs to take cover in, tall as a skyscraper to leap from. Yes. In such detail"
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 12 August 2009 ) | ||||||