Sunday, February 14, 2016


Limbs straddling a patch of sand raised in the middle of the ocean. can't call it an island. too little. puny. there is nothing all alone scared inside my throat, water desert. felt something hard, under this sand, under the water. poking into my thighs, crotch, ankles. 

started to tug. felt like the shape of oversized, fossilized coral. can't get it out. like trying to pull a scalp off. like getting something lodged out of a body breathing, resists unclenching, packed. get it free. wet glittering smooth pink rhodochrosite in the shape of a taproot. heavy. size of my arm. don't believe it. lodging hand underneath myself again to feel deeper in sand. there's more of it.

pulling out additional pieces. varying size, lengths, weights. panicking breathing hard don't get it. how is it here underneath me. distracted thinking about weight loss and insects. getting weighed down, can't hold it all, have to sacrifice large pieces watch them sink through clear water. feel my body dip down as i pull each piece, sand foams around, kicks away, am effectively dismantling my long horse--my little land, drowning myself in slow greedy pulls, satisfying dislocations. can't stop. up to my chin in water. it is obsessive, pretty, can't last.

but yeah, won't stop.

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