Thursday 1 July 2010

It's All Spunk and Brine to Me

What am I crying for when I scream out my god? It is the indifferent mischief of eternal Heath Robinson machines and the first glimpse of the house-sized fin above the becalmed sea. It is vultures and haberdashers, manholes and the last page of every book there's ever been. It is what Spatchcock is looking at when she stares at nothing on the wall. It's the forgotten toy beneath my bed, dust-cauled and mumbling through spiders, the peeling birches at the back of things, what happens in the pavilions at dusk. It is what I'm dreaming about when I dream about home.

5 comments:

  1. How intensely and entertainingly Sack Posset that is. Brilliant, as always.

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  2. so good to read you. i've been bumping into aimless walls at every turn without the light of posset.
    this: "the last page of every book there's ever been" is all we need of god.

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  3. feel that? it's my brain humping yours.

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  4. You three are my favourites x

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  5. ^^^yea that's the spot, right there mm hm

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