“I’m an object. An object dirty with blood. That creates other objects…”
– Clarice Lispector, Augua Viva
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times…
It is the time of fulfillment, frenzy, dragon smoke and sex,
Of love, Asphalt and astonishment
A cinema of mud and Bone
It is the time of Night Blood…
In the great elastic performance chambers of arterial Muscle, the
restless heart gathers blood unto itself,
a nocturnal nourishment sticky with stories,
desire and truth, creation and death,
a tangle of labored roots
There are invisibles, objects, shades and shadows, snakes and heights, a
fumble of bodies. Random reports of gasoline angels, rust, fear and elusive
paint, demons, electric scatter and temporary soot. Vaginal salts and brackish
memory, sperm and sand. Blue dread, water, forests and – beauty,
…………….. always out of reach.
It is a time Only in Bed
