You Can Let It All Burn if the Corners of Your Mouth Wet by Gina Bonati
No one copies me like my father. Still. I am thinking, when he pushed the door, unaided and useless; there was too much furniture stopped in front of the door on the opposite side so that the fire in the house continued and she burned.
Later they cut the ring he gave her from her finger and I saw it. It was turquoise. Or maybe gold.
This is all about fire.
There were plenty of feathers in the pillow and fathers in the dream when it happened. It was sudden. It could have been or could have been as easily endless. What it was was a long long time of slow warmth that grew and grew becoming too grandiose then for her to escape from. For me it was a small thing I was able to spank away and it was only the aftershock that lingered I loved that spring monday. The sea was wide. It had become a river. I stood a long while and leaned against alot of cool rock, I thought of nothing but water. Water to drink, pour, bathe in, lap up, watch, water to watch mostly and to think about.
Her name was Joyce, he had loved her and that is all I know about her burning.
I never met her once I wish I wish I did.
It was the drugs was what my father said to me so often about everything and especially about everything so often going wrong. This is a good thing: the room is changing and I am stable. I see better. I sleep in different places.
She is a little girl holding her vagina so the blood won't fly, running, screaming. the bicycle turned. It is funny. Her father is shitting so it is not a good time. The candle is a stolen lamp and when you turn it colors come. Her mother will be the one if she finds her.
After the birds.
After the false man gave her her fake bird in a fake gold cage singing they went gambling, it was a gambling town. After the birds she went on to become catwoman, visiting mansions by starlight, collecting the fur assortment ahead of thought.
Since she wanted to know about small boats, what he said was, It was small, with a mast that did something, went somewhere, moved up and down or disappeared into the sea. There weren't any. I knew where I could always find one if I looked, not carefullly, but insistently. Our stomachs lay heavy, especially mine, it always practices. I prefer being alone with a bottle of water with or with out salt if I cannot have the disappearing sea...that it is voluptuous and subversive.
Words. As a point of description, describing one point, and point. The point of rock. Jagged. Jut. Into the female. Crash, crash, splash, crash, kersplash, smash, crash, uuuuuuuuhhh, aaaaaaaahh, and then we eat again.
Stimulant and coolant.
Stimulant and coolant, the human body wakes starts jolts
ravages tears consumes
yanks reaches slides
swings curls kisses
plunges slips escapes
repeats pauses sighs
snuggles hops slaps
grips skips trembles
passes burrows jumps
......this is all about
from Tribes Issue 9