in my neighborhood

We choose a mantic thanksgiving—dark and steep…

We live as prelude to the mother of all bloodlettings

We jockey frenetic prayers—glean sources—Sleep the sleep of strangers …

Ghosts in your house—Live through your eyes—live your memories…

The wizard of siren calls—calls you to gloom—cries: kiss me, kiss me, kiss me—I offend no one but you.

“In our home here by the sea we will not last much longer. The cold and the damp will certainly get us in the end, because it is no longer possible to leave … “

— Lydia Davis / “A Natural Disaster”

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....
This entry was posted in Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s