The Sun clung with fog today and all eyes are on the Scorpio solar eclipse, hounds released and sight unseen. I cannot yet say what the eclipse will truthfully bring, or if it will gather shape shortly during or after. Likely, we will continue on with our clown faces and desirous ways, as usual. What else can we do? With the thicket ahead now directly in front of us, bodies darkly enveloped, there is a roundness to being alone. We clink around like weighty gold charms against each other. I look up and see that I am safe around the Giant's neck. Would you like to join me here, too? In the distance I watch myself scrambling over the mountain face slant, a forward slash rock, tipping over into the next word, hand to velveteen sky, did you hear me— (I am becoming my own father, and I will train my own hound)
the Giant and I roll up our sleeves and set to work. a brimming banquet to prepare for the memories of all the children I have been: for all the girls I have been: for all the alien I have been: the smell of snot and tangerines on my fingertips flavoring my book citrus fleshy pollen matte
when what I thought to grow up was to continuously, eternally be filled up with desire
the Giant and I, we worship the Moon together
he has shown me how to spin hay, Rabbit; related gold matter, glistening swamp hair
in other words the thick thin wrapped spindle and its pricking point, now midway via combusta with both feet fresh in the threshold of Scorpio I: A Jawbone and my fingers stubbed crackling! the pulse of the wheel. the little jacket on garlic. we politely take the coats of our dinner guests. the table is slowly set
the plastic shells of human hands, the thick block of the financier's gold heavy with wheat and sugar, the book of a meticulously thin apple, buttery raisin custard in a dish
and there, at the dinner table, I feel my mind growing its own neck, egged on by Mars and his relentless shoves. lunging forward still, my head heavy on its throat— it sways, beast, planetary and reptilian, unblinking— that split heart transfixed who knows what’s best, yes, heed the warning and keep all traps shut. it takes some mammalian force to turn the mind back. and oh my body— scales pieces apart— moves ever so slowly
i am not light and feathered. the Giant will still have me. we eat quietly, desirously, sucking in and spitting out the blood of a wound through my teeth. in my own hubris, i refuse to believe that there are things which cannot be described
xxo,
s
Now that’s what I call abstraction ✏️💗
Really loved this one... it doesn’t feel like prose, not quite poetry either, but there’s a texture to the words and the rhythm that’s experiential in and of itself. A dreamscape feeling :)