I: “Eliza, no”
[Enter: Eliza, falling from the doors of the breakfront cabinet, bloodied nose, carrying an empty jade vase]
She collided with the carpet an hour ago, has been posing since. Standing above, I look down:
Serpentine, the woman listens through the floor with a frigid cheek. Fire, behind her back, cheats upward toward the ceiling, greedy for correct angles. The air in the room is false humidity; that contained with the Exedra. Terminating into the seaside liturgical east, the room is designed in the shape of a hexagon. A dog is watching, its head stuck through a plastic door. Eliza, reticent feline sipping air through a flexing nostril.
I shaped, with my hands, a mountain of black feathers into that very image.
The image was not a sculpture. The sculpture is confidently interrupted when Eliza lays flat.
[Exit: dog’s head]
GREEN JADE: impeccable vessel, hiding an invisible blood sacrifice.
The vase was overturned beside an open skeleton’s hand. Paw & urn were set atop a rug the shade of borscht in winter. Jade spit ovular spots beside my wife’s left knee: the one I prayed over by candlelight on the night before our betrothal. We extinguished the flames to conduct the ritual by smoke.
This is a strange festival, indeed. Eliza, whimpering, considerably warmer than the cat. Still erect, I offer a toast of yellow anise liqueur to:
The Old Women of Our Pasts
The Young Ones of a Noisy Future
Eliza spoke, racing the wind to my lips. I am gasping for air from within adoration:
Eliza: “Bring me a cup of soup, slut.”
Shutters swing closed on the exterior of the house. We are speaking in near darkness
Eliza: (from near darkness): “I am naming you Rachel. Come down here to me. Lie down on this wet carpet, Rachel”
I came twice when she uttered the new name. Language shifts the image of my Self from erect to arched across her moist kimono lap. Blushing, I indulge in fistfuls of her hair. I discern the emergency at hand. The shutters lean their weight into the walls.
We are together, bare, necks touching, wrapped in nets aboard the red sea buoy, ringing to warn the invasion of harmful men. Black, the ocean is sewing our new skin together at the hemline of impatience. Her forehead between my breasts illuminated the white light in our kissing palms.
Her forehead between my breasts
Large pelican stomaching a carp
Basket suspended with a cracked leather belt
Cartilage like squid caps
Immaculate; swollen and bloated from impact with a careles(s)word
I entered the water while wearing a robe. I became very cold. I jumped onto a rock to look for Eliza with a silver retractable telescope.
She was in the form of a mother dungeoness crab, taking shelter under my rock! Her adorable mouth was spitting green foam onto my foot. Marble eyes, teetering from opposable stems, rotated upward toward my knees. I tell my finger,
I: “Reach down to stroke her shell, small finger”
Eliza, clicking a melody for me. Water pushes a line toward her stilts. An apple, bitten twice by an afternoon fawn, floats in the center of the mill pond. My darling below, executing the glissando, throws a dilated glance toward the fruit. Foam: exponential. Color, pinkening. Brilliant lustful crustacean.
My dress slips to the rock, encircling my feet and dampening again. Disrupting the water three times first, I sacrifice my dehydration and enter the chasm.
The apple: bitten thrice. Fanning red hair (burdensome), a waitress crawls through the liquid, the corners of her mouth leaking juice. Her teeth are rotten and the robe has forgotten her form.
The apple is spilling worms into her mouth. The crab: no longer beneath the rock.
Eliza, aboard the buoy, disappears beyond the point
A wall of smoke from the mile-away fire introduces a Red Tide. Reddest girl in tide of identical humiliation, lonesome, masticating a polluted fruit.