you were a peculiar boy. i remembered that much
i remembered our hands tangled, i didn’t
want you to let me go. i wish you never did. i
don’t know if there ’ s much point now, for
wishing i mean.
though i find all the oceans foggy now - like
i can’t see the stones at the bottom no more -
i still have this one thing clear. you nod, shut up
i’m talking. we spent a lot of time down on that bench
yeah, you can see it in your head now.
i bet, i bet.
it was always green when i knew it,
like your eyes. until they went blue. they were green
once. i know they were. peculiar boy. your head was
in branches, your hair tugging on the leaves like
they was telling you secrets. don’t forget
that. shut up, i’m talking.
your mother she was a good woman. tidy hair and
neat clothes, i always wanted her frocks. i don’t
think she liked me much, mind. i never could see down
to the bottom of the ocean not when we was kids. not
i had them put your name on that bench. i didn’t know
the spelling off hand - i never wrote it down, never
knew you long enough to get it proper. you were nicer than
all the other kids. said my hair was golden sand, i
hope your mother knows. i do. it’s a new world now,
maybe we’d be okay if they knew.
she’d be so proud of you, peculiar boy,
i would be too.
Fiona Shaw - Untitled (Lies), 2009
I need to take a shower to clear my head.
I need to take
to my head.
Shower water to clean the tub and the
running wine that cleans
Makes me pure.
Makes things slower.
Diaphanous white over white heat that wrap around my
A fire from the inside.
A martyr of the remaining pieces sewed together by
blasphemy and red thread looping around the wrists
I press to my eyes.
Dinaw Mengestu, The Beautiful Things that Heaven Bears
Bigger Than Your Blog (Ohm Y God // Clayton Deutsch)