a jackhammer-mad

Tubercular Dream

There were no soft monsters last night—but a hue blue neural synapse saved a receding shadow.

I was sitting on a bar in a bird cage. I was naked. A black shape behind me, on my shoulder, picked at my neck.

A dripping voice: You shouldn’t hold it like that.
A lilting bass-drawl: It’s a woodpecker. It’s a blackbird.

It sank its talons—a jackhammer-mad bird. The pain searing. Electric. My transparent hands swatting at air.

S: It’s my dream / A: My nightmare

What I’m Reading:

“War A is going well and no longer a threat, small and mature. Like a bonsai. War B is in full flower. Its thin green shoots reaching across the ocean floor like fiber optic cable.”

— Vanessa Veselka / Zazen

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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