Self & my self get weightless in the skinning that is the lay of it & window reflections & pocket mirror
reflections & the pronouns are not quite made for this though self cannot say to why
but there is the lifting & the landing & & & &
in a glasshouse. weary. self waters
the plants that self might pull the leaves from them.
cosmonaut. drink some water. & & & &
playground. arc of the swing. it knows to double back. it knows that to harvest to the root is to dig and eat.
crushing prickles into the tongue’s bend. see the buds rose. hostage flush
against the tiles.
self feels the approach of the loosening. wildebeests, a confusion, beginning in no one place.
it is mostly radiator water. behind doors are islands & if self strains
the candles establish in my self’s ears like old times. in the wicks there is somehow
of blame. pigmentation in the night time,
cupping in self’s abdomen
promise. my self is unpinned again. if self stands my self will walk quite far. aching
narcoleptic in deep height, in tableau space that self against the wishes of my self refuses
to shear. washing sloughs away hours and perfume. self’s vocal range does not climb
to many afternotes. my self will walk quite far. self’s navel is concave
and frankly vulnerable, open as peeled fruit.
enfleurage & hinging on the wall which is
fuzzing. paying the rent. heart is soap knitted together. calm
ruins & &
quiet music. the way down is heaviness, cosmonaut. cosmonaut,
my self, must. sharing the mud & leaving self. cosmonaut this is not
what self were made for. it takes mechanical lungs which is how
self can know my self is to be
self has always self’s tether. there are alphabets beside this and maybe couched in one of those
are the words, soundly asleep in what they are containing. syllable by syllable my self go back
down & a syllable is in fact a tap and smack of the hand and my self is down
cosmonaut. my self is unhelmeted.
||| equally in the alphabets beside this maybe there are not the adequate words |||
||| but anyway there is a way down into & & . hold on it |||
to it |||
i am held together and holding. |||
Alison Graham is based in Norwich, UK; her work has appeared in/on ZARF and 3:AM Magazine. She can be found on Twitter as @A__Graham.