The Bookshop Sessions #13

This pen knows how to be held. Even so I still don’t use it to call. 8 years have passed. Held tight. She descaled once. It was… the way she knew. The rhythms somehow didn’t. She spoke the language of the space between my thumb and index. Connecting the river to my boulder veins. Bleeding me blue whilst she sat among the fallen ears of man, reading you so easily. Women need nothing but ‘Live and let live’. As for the ears of us that die on hearing the crunch behind the tree trunk stank. The O’mens. We need the spoken words to slash the musky builden towers. The fortified blood machines. We’ve tolden too long and holden on desperately to the paper picked wrong. Waiting for the antique store door bell to chime so the record player can hit next on a whole album that travelled from Turkey. Skipped. For he needed something louder. If only all along, a smaller, subtler, closer voice…screamed into the silence.

come back

Space

a fifteen minute

Rebirth

In a choice that rings right below the belly. 

A button hides on the road riding East.

She asked, where even is that…how often do you lie? For the only one I know is a beating flesh machine that pumps and pumps. So where is it? Are you still lying? You can’t even see your own. His ancestors sit up in their willow seats sending through fully formed returns. “¡Well lemme tell you!”

“There are only two things in this world you can’t stare at for too long…”

She stops him with those razor lips before he slips on… “I’m bored”

He continues…”They both begin with S.”

She laughs and throws off her socks warming her feet on the radiator. Oh farewell Mr Man yet another boring Sssssssstory. But go on if you must. The balloon deflates, sizzling all around the apartment. He slumps back into the carriage way marked out into sofa smoke. His fingers focus on the warmth near his nails then the burning radiator on his armpit. 

“Fine I’ll continue it myself” says someone without speaking… The first is that great big ball of fire in the sky that rises every. The second is that great small fire inside you that some would say you lost if you…’.

“Well, thanks linda. Now I’m bored. Can I borrow your lighter, mine's gone red.”