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Friday, March 4, 2011

Eris [Part 3: Worms]

Part III: Worms

my myth book is a bite dictate
my resurrection advance
is nearly in the black.
nobody saves
to get out of the pit,
nobody believes in the confusion curse
nor questions the dissection of the echo
even my watching mother competes
banging from the threat of fleeing
predicting like a predatory panic
tingling along a wire of spines
the minimum silence
this ice, sliding and dancing
in a body carrier
of blood like lava
from a poisoning victim.
there are echoes on either side
and you are standing in an elongating line
you are standing inside an esophagus
you can smell gastric juice
the walls are oozing with slime

martyr martyr.
sin like an epiphany fiction.
my fiction lied.
my fiction is now lying.
rewritables pile up.
tell a fiction enough times
it will evaporate into thin air
it will hush like noise in a whisper voice
it will cradle over and over.
it will turn on itself.
it will begin with itself.
it will end with itself.
here is my sphinx riddle:
my name is this.
my name is this.

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