Exchanging voices
I said:
The hardest thing is to start with a blossom, a roadmap, a partial face appearing red and illegal.I leap and barely land on you. Afraid my tongue will be caught in amber, I do not trust me to let go. All along, it's been about water, how it steadies us, how our buoyancy is pliable in all angles. We did not account for drought.Even though it rains, my body is occluded and cataracted. You are floodgate and waterfall. When the water vaporizes, how will we see each other without bending light, always bendable light?
You said:
Damp skinflash is a granite you writhe in, unknowably near. Swinging your lapses beneath me, star-dry, we flinch, soporific even, this music of erosion. You have spent thousands of years crested in lavender and corduroy, untouched, carved from basalt. A before-ness, plural and storm-scented, builds its walls from algal ponds, joining you to earth. But thought and its cell-strands, white winesap on your curling tongue. Even this precipitation shrugs, chooses its life. Sawtooth and jacaranda. With only seconds left, I am searching, amorous, spherical, avalanching inward, making purgatories glow with my breath.
The hardest thing is to start with a blossom, a roadmap, a partial face appearing red and illegal.I leap and barely land on you. Afraid my tongue will be caught in amber, I do not trust me to let go. All along, it's been about water, how it steadies us, how our buoyancy is pliable in all angles. We did not account for drought.Even though it rains, my body is occluded and cataracted. You are floodgate and waterfall. When the water vaporizes, how will we see each other without bending light, always bendable light?
You said:
Damp skinflash is a granite you writhe in, unknowably near. Swinging your lapses beneath me, star-dry, we flinch, soporific even, this music of erosion. You have spent thousands of years crested in lavender and corduroy, untouched, carved from basalt. A before-ness, plural and storm-scented, builds its walls from algal ponds, joining you to earth. But thought and its cell-strands, white winesap on your curling tongue. Even this precipitation shrugs, chooses its life. Sawtooth and jacaranda. With only seconds left, I am searching, amorous, spherical, avalanching inward, making purgatories glow with my breath.
posted by Scott Glassman at 12:38 PM
1 Comments:
Oooo, I very much like the prose chunks, but thought that maybe we could set it up like a dramatic dialogue, hence the additions of "I said" "You said"-- increases the tension I think, and gives the reader more of a "map" (& this was just playing but I inverted our identities!) Complete ego dissolution. I take your voice, you take mine. Totally "releasing ownership". If you want to make it more factual though, reality-based we can switch the pronouns. Just thought it was interesting, a new layer.
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