On Performing
perform for me don’t look away now, clenched fist is for me sharp nail to skin – cry infront of these people and i’ll never perform with you again sand blows into my eye sad little particles with no particular reason, unknown balloon lies flat in my laundry it's only fate after the fact, to be a pimple: inconvenient and peckish. funny word: peckish, the image of birdies sliding around covered in hydrochloric acid, knock- knocking for some food please knocking — a threat shaking my bones as the doorknob rattles with mystery, and its unknown voices the corridor is drunk tonight i can tell i stay unmoving, lest i should trip and find myself in the library drinking in as much tearwater as i drink coffee, something candid in the air of an underground room full of dead- -lines, and stresslines, it is thick like the beads on my wrist stabbing cold like its history, lips fall off in the corners, dried and out of date, they taste good on nothing, all that’s ...