lady day...

of the room with three emaciated looking men laid
down on grass green sheets, with two nurses, one
with red hair, applying Compositions that involve a
period of dream torture, maybe solitude, casually
said Ordog with a flap of the hatch, and sometimes
fellatio... she spoke in staccato sentences whilst
licking the erect connective tool, she had deemed it
the day before... propositions of deception...
writing of Candelebra in our Dream Book, our
Dreams began to configure around the same
happenings, often over lapping, sometimes
identical... hence the days spent without sleeping,
the music a stupor beat...
...the Devil's Saxophone...
...the sun wasn't there when we weren't
looking not for Melania's philosophical edge, but for
days spent with curtains drawn, drifting into astrays
that cyclically become important and then
unimportant, shuffling into spirals of time
unconstrained by the clock, until Ordog reared his
head, appearing as real as anything, nothing
dividing between realities...
...apricot after seeds...
...prison after walls...
...sun after moon...
...bloodshot after tension...
...ejaculation after oppression...
...the curtains twitching, Mrs Lucelle going
about her usual fussing... paying dues to
masochisms with a beef supper on the stove...
Claudia is in the Kitchen closing the window, for a
breeze, talking of a flamenco song that sounds like
raw strawberry, melting snow...
70