1. At Second Sight
3. Lips apart
5. Time-Space Compression
1. At Second Sight
Splat! A filament of my wettest eye-candy lands in your lap and burrows between your legs. I open my mouth, you read my mind, let the carnage begin. But oh, how slowly! As you advance like the most ridiculous matador in the world I look on with disdain, waggling my seŮorita in your panting direction just for the devil of it. Late at night youíll go home with your hands full of me, ink on your fingers and chemicals on your breath, tied to the railway track as I twirl my mustachios over your silly little dynamite stick. As for me, I retire from the fray replete with sulphur, all sepulchral in my waxy bath-time skin. Ah, such fertile complacency. In the darkroom of an urban night the alchemicals fix your light to the drenching paper. Letís call it a fortnight before you turn up again and this time I recognise you from the penumbral photofit, oh youíve had your mooie all over the agony columns for quite a while my lad. I thought I knew all your tricks and fancies, your rose petals and your rabbitís foot, but then quite suddenly I look across the table and see that you are a terrible centaur, rising ten feet out of the ground, your eyes rolling, your hooves sparking, your mane sweeping across my breasts, your arrow aimed at my ribs which are springing open like a broken gate to usher you into my desperate body.
You'll grind my bones to make your bread.
Then you'll eat the bread.
The seeds from the bread will germinate in your body.
The roots will unroll like stockings inside your thighs.
The stem will creep darkly up inside your belly.
It will pierce you three times through the heart.
It will puncture your lungs and make you gasp for air, until its leaves take hold of them and move the breath for you. In and then out. In and then out. In and then out.
The bud will fill your throat. When you touch yourself at midnight it will be my pollen that bursts aloud from your mouth.
3. Lips apart
At the sound of your voice
my mouth fills with tines.
because your fingers are like honeysuckle
bees crawl out of my mouth while Iím sleeping
because your eyelids are like trigonometry
the earth spins at the speed of light
because your breath is like a blood feud
I have evolved two opposable thumbs
because your voice is like a corkscrew hazel
I wish you were my father
because your diaphragm is like a pair of apron strings
Reality Checkpoint veers off demonology
because your scapulae are like vodka
Iíll spin pure gold into threads of semen
because your skin is like an adopted child
my hair streams with acid and dog roses
because your veins are like brambles
raw nectar runs from a gash in the beehive
because your vertebrae are like sigils
my lips wonít heal
because your throat is like a scalpel
you guessed my real name
5. Time-Space Compression
Many things are efficacious to bring your true love back to you.
Peel an apple with a single cut and throw the skin over your shoulder. Leave the skin where it lies and return at midnight, if your lover is true to you it will have become the folds of his or her navel. Press your face into his flesh, his belly will yield to your teeth.
Say your loverís name three times into a mirror stained with steam and tobacco juice. If your lover is true she will shoot from your tongue and lick the glass clean until your own face disappears and your skin falls empty to the floor.
Take a lock of your loverís hair when you go to bed and place it between your thighs. If your lover is true it will turn into a lamprey wrapped in barbed wire.
By the 33rd day when I had tried all these things, my darling, and my legs were bloody, and my face was blank, and the hairs from your belly were still between my teeth, and still it was never enough, I took to stronger stuff and went down below to conjure Mercury to bring you to me.
This is how I did it:
I turned on all the lights in the house at two in the morning and opened all of the windows so that hundreds of snowy white moths flew in. A thousand mosquitoes thrust their mouths into my arms and face and a single cockroach clattered through the bedroom window and crashed onto the bloodstained under-sheet. I set fire to the cockroach with your old cigarette lighter and when the sheets and the mattress caught the flame I put it out with a litre of orange juice poured from an enamel saucepan. I pissed into the saucepan and put the burnt body of the cockroach into the piss, then took the saucepan down all the stairs and put it on the cellar floor and placed a circle of candles around it. Then I lit the candles and turned out all the lights. The moths began to file down the cellar stairs and to revolve above the saucepan in a calm and orderly fashion and the mosquitoes stopped biting but my skin was already covered in welts and puncture marks which I later pretended you had made with your own claws and teeth. I drew a picture of your hands because they are the most beautiful part of your beautiful body, then I tore up the picture and put it into the saucepan with the burnt dead cockroach and the piss. Then I sang What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor three times, and walked anti-clockwise three times around the saucepan and candles, then I blew out all the candles and waited for Mercury to appear. I waited for ages until he finally showed up. In the bluish light of his hair I could see all the moths lying quietly on the concrete floor, a lovely expanse of wings and antennae all around Mercuryís lovely winged feet. The noise of the wings was amazing until he opened his mouth and three deep notes crawled simultaneously from his throat, followed by a flaming cockroach, a mouthful of piss which slopped out and ran down his chin, and your beautiful hands which flapped like a moth and settled on either side of his silver-helmeted head. He lifted me up from the cellar floor and held me against the wall and fucked me ineptly for what seemed like hours, and when I finally came I could feel the lumps of broken plaster rolling down the backs of my thighs and the legs of twenty dead spiders inside my ears. But by now dawn had long since been and gone and it was really the middle of the morning and Mercury had disappeared, putting a garter round the earth on his mission to bring you to me. So I cleared up the mess and then I lay down on the stinking mattress and went to sleep and dreamt that you broke all my teeth with a butter knife.
On the 35th day I woke up and wondered whether you had come back to me yet. I thought I was alone again but then I found a diurnal moth lying dead on the kitchen counter. Surely that must mean something.