16.7.09

...


the mutual identities, lay slick upon the thread worn net. this the dog says, it is mine, all mine. snout and teeth adorn the day through a monkey grinders funeral march. the words just get more truculent above the broken flagstones.
........ doriandra

3 comments:

db said...

"When I was little," she told me, "the girl who was really me was murdered, and the murderers felt ashamed, so they went to the graveyard and dug up a body and breathed life into her and placed her in the bed, and that girl was me, and nobody knew the difference. Or nobody claimed to know the difference, but somewhere deep inside where nothing grows they knew. They knew. I go out looking for the body of the girl I pretend to be at the side of highways, at the back of dumpsters, in hotel rooms and bathrooms and drainage canals, and I can feel her there but I cannot find her, so I pretend to be her for a moment, face cold against the tile, and wait for the light to fall into me, to come out of me." She made me promise not to tell anyone her secret, and I promised, but that's a promise I made to the girl she pretends to be and not to this fraud tarted up in someone else's skin.

17 July 2009 at 05:08
Russell CJ Duffy said...

forever and a never more, the dogs of society howl with an impotent effect, like brass trumpets being blown through cotton.
it is in fact a total fiction, this reality we lead, as it is full of missed gauged moments spent calculating the gross profit of this and that. all the while the immateria spins on, inside and outside of us; in our dreams and in our coffee breaks.

17 July 2009 at 12:24
Robert said...

i can hear such incredible music in these short vignettes...absolutely stunning!

19 July 2009 at 08:21

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