Saturday 15 August 2009

A Season Of Sleeping In A Small Space


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'I will sell sections of my abdomen for a profit so you can draw on them. They will put knitting needles into the connective tissues around my knee and small well-bronzed pins into a vague region of my thigh. In praise of anaemia a cluster of weakened children will tug and tear at my hair until I am bald. A child without teeth will try and puncture me like a balloon. A man of a weight (equivalent in gold uncertain) will enter and play a sorrowful tune by slapping the hollows of my cheeks. Will they let me sleep on leopard fur and dalmatian fur nude when it's hot? Girls shed their coats every summer. I won't eat! My mum will be coming and she will be dusting me with goldy magic glass her grandmother found in the forest. I will scream into a deep, dirty hidden hole every so often. My teeth will probably fall out and I won't be able to reach my dentist because no one in the building will let me use a phone. A starving adolescent witch with icy hair will walk in the gloom and put the frozen tit of the lightbulb near my mouth. It will be done gently, gently, and we will call it kissing and then I won't touch anyone at all for months and months and months.'


'With No Roots Behind Them III' by Rita Ackermann. No copyright infringement intended.

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