-
tori j. watson
- newcastle, england
- Last Record: 2013-06-19 01:11:56 +0200
- Joined: May 30, 2007
- http://www.twitter.com...
words, sentences, stanzas, poems, prose, stories, tales.
|
when i was a kid, i collected soaps. it all started with a nice beatrix potter soap that i was given as a present. my sister had jemima puddle duck, i was given peter rabbit. then, soon after, i... |
|
|
|
|
i often cry myself awake when i’m dreaming - A. always hears me and wakes up first. he shakes my shoulder and i languidly drag myself away from the dream and into reality. the bed sheets... |
|
|
|
|
|
it's autumn & nighttime has already started creeping around this neighbourhood earlier & earlier. afternoons collide into evenings faster & i awake from a good book to find i have be... |
|
|
|
|
|
I’m in the bath staring down at the scar on my knee, the ugly reminder of the tumble I took on the way to my work’s Christmas party in the middle of December. I was running late, I... |
|
|
|
|
|
When she died, they took her things: necklace, watch & silver rings. They slid them off with expertise, then took her wallet, phone & keys. <... |
|
|
|
|
|
echoes of memories of being young swim into my vision, as if in a searchlight, here an arm illuminated, a smudged cheek, just enough in view to register what it is i'm making myself think about.... |
|
|
|
|
|
Beneath it all, beneath the smiles and the gentle resting of hands, I was water. I was a prayer. I had accepted the fate that was uncurling and I was imitating an obelisk. Starchy. Between the S... |
|
|
|
|
|
it happened in the river, while the current tugged at him like a dumb animal trying to play. he clawed at the riverbank, all garbled gasps and frantic splash... |
|
|
|
|
|
Since I boarded this bus, I've been trying to escape you, but you are a bird. You are a bird that travels with me. Your flapping wings pushed up inside my skull until I'm coughing feathers. <... |
|
|
|
Simply put, this is it. You are the metronome at which I pull off my greatest stunts. The sandpaper skin that so effortlessly bleaches me time and again and. A phoenix is a breath that I swallow. I shall not shall not speak shall not shall silence myself for fear of. Heimlich, under the ribs. You rip apart the circus to find me in the lion’s mouth, my doughy head waiting with the burnt down candle. I say: I have cold limbs, there is a frost in me. Time and again and. Find me locked in the cupboard, picturing your figure in the darkness. Picture me the pendulum swinging, soggy with a magpie desire, pecking at you through the crack in the wall. I say: it’s like chasing it all away only to find it’s your own tail.
Simply put, this is the first time. I am maddening in the dark, somewhere between what I have known and the thick ink strokes of your bloated bellies, the equivalent of pickled foetuses. I don’t know the force of your sleeping elbow, or how the Dutch sunflowers rotund with confidence feel in my hand, but I am willing to search these things out. I am sunk on the pavement, counting birds, drawing numbers, pulling at my voice as if it is a tough weed. You are leaning, taking in the atmosphere like a shadow, pulling your hat down over, what you later call, newly born eyes, as I expand like the belly of a frog.
Simply put, that was the first of many. You are red wine, you are “everything has punctuation, here.” You are like the olden days. When I talk about you, there is a note of nostalgia. I could swear it’s raining. Like buckets. Cartoon rain clouds. I say: we are sacks of flour, knees bent, arms stretched. Six million tons of steel rotated fast enough and a stomach of magma. Simply put, this is it.
|
|
last night, as i climbed in, i found our pillows soaked through, & your back illuminated by the moon, & my fingers quickly frozen to the bone by a lap... |
|
|
|
|
|
it's funny how time distorts things, how history mutates itself with age, how at some point in my life my perception of him had irrevocably altered, and a part of me had changed and changed for ... |
|
|
|
|
|
she felt like there was a constant struggle between whatever force was keeping her together and whatever force (she suspected anger) that was trying to inflate her up like violet beau... |
|
|
|
|
|
1. As a young girl, I was overprotected. |
|
|
|
|
|
i knew you were special as soon as we met, so i sewed you into the seams of me. now, every time life plays rough & tears me a little, a piece of you peeks out & t... |
|
|
|
|
|
After I’d signed all the forms and answered all their questions, they handed me a gown and stockings and drew the curtain around me. The nurse stuck her head through the gap. &l... |
|
|
|
|
|
Here is where, Amazonian, I pin your tongue down with a surgeon's precision, and so begins the lexical dissection of our encounters, ripping you page by page by page, mop... |
|
|
|
