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The Scarlet Prophecies Part One

"How did you get this scar?”

 

From laughing horizontally, the floor took on a Dictaphone characteristic

and I presented it with my mouth, in solvents and kisses.

 

“You were pissed.”

 

I reserve that right for you.

 

                                    *

 

She gave herself Anastasian developments in this story,

she was looking for something, we all were,

 leaning into him, the rain was perfect – a suggestion of sex -

and she asked for a lighter.

 

“The dark matters.” He repeated this –

“The. Dark. Mat-ters.” Lining his lips with the syllables,

he presented himself as opportunity to quench her thirst.

She had considered worse.

 

                                    *

 

These days I feel on a limb, I feel with these limbs – and the limbs

are exhausted.

Pinch your fingers into the shape of a person and let it walk -

the pavement becomes more solid, the movements an extension of a bigger body,

a force too god damn awful, a cerebral tackle we will consider our birthing instinct.

(We will assume this a faecal matter later.)

Have you done this? I considered my limbs as bent fingers,

moving through the city, leaving prints unidentified.

On these days I was old, really old,

extracting teeth old, premature balding, kohl crevices below my eyelids old.

I took this as a direction of missing you. The shape you are yet to take –

I have considered worse, but god, did I get old.

Quickly too. A day will go by and I’ll probably refuse elasticity;

shreds of air thin ginger, my bones moving too bold under my skin,

leaning in for a kiss.

I will get old.

 

                                    *

 

She flicked peanuts into the ashtray as his hands fumbled under the table,

her knee, beyond, the leg of the chair, the movements, polythene.

 

“I have never fucked a Rubix Cube” He reasoned with his tie,

slackened the archetype that invited him into people’s homes,

letting them draw in a draught, ready to buy some polythene.

 

She felt he had exhausted his point.

 

                                    *

 

I kept imagining we had met under different circumstances – my nose wasn’t crooked,

I had longer hair. Maybe I had foreign ancestry.

I thought of all these things, and positioned cameras to hide the witch bone.

I understood this as to be missing you.

 

My skin began to pucker.

I had spent too long in the bath tub, climbing back into the womb with a bar of soap.

 

                                    *

 

She had understood the importance of the dark –

how his body became more bearable, the corner of the room

he had left for her, a deepening bruise on her retina.

 

She heard the flick of his Zippo lighter.

 

The dark mattered.

 

                                    *

 

I had to find you somewhere!

 

Be reasonable - my arms were there, outstretched

in the neon weight of it, the straight line of it,

catching the tiles, flicking the silver on and off,

 

I had to find it somewhere.

 

 

                                    (.........)

 

 

 

 

 

 

◄ To a Lost Friend

Amorphous ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (9801)

Sun 13th Nov 2011 16:57

Brilliant, fantastic word play use of words, everything, wasn't keen on rubic's cube? not swear word, I just didn't get polythene? (too clever for me) but I think the rest is wonderful xx

Deborah Jordan Bailey

Sun 13th Nov 2011 00:59

I love this Marianne, the way it flows like a northern hillside beck, sometimes fast, bubbling over the rocks, sometimes smooth, cool,earthy and calm, but deep, making me want to follow it, see where it goes next..
"he presented himself as opportunity to quench her thirst.
She had considered worse...
he had left for her, a deepening bruise on her retina."
and this is up my street and i like ;) Deb x

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