peat-boggy notional

The Revanchist’s Score (to Settle)

She is clearly not amused. Events have gone awry. It is her score (to settle) now—it is placid and peat-boggy notional—certainly “doable.” She will take back her river of grass. The dissonance is too much to bear. The timbre is in the blue spectrum according to her synesthetic nerve pincers. The shadings smell of coronal shadows. The sky will turn white. Each pitch shift has a half-life of citrus suffused with cadaver. She tilts her ear to the sun—it is all hers for the taking. She tips her right index finger, points it up at the void, and begins.

“Don’t trust the American fiction, fathers who are not there don’t miss anyone.”

— Noémi Lefebvre / Poetics of Work

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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