h.b.irwin

Mutedness

In Uncategorized on January 28, 2010 at 3:42 am

I know exactly everything aout god. She is white and muscular with featherlesws skin between her eyes and nose. When it is cold, I wish she would wear a sweater.

I was conceived in a wool woven womb, in blood and blood and yarn. I talked about exactly everything.

The Mute Swan is closely related to but larger than as I grow my neck is narrower and the places I can speak are more secret.

She wants, as I crawl through the esophagus afghan, to be, onto tread needle lips, committed.

She sticks her fingers in her mouth and presses on my tongue like a piano key.

“It’s ineffable, but not as ineffable as all that.”

The Mute swan is closely realted to but larger than all that.

I know exactly everyone there abouts. Come hug my neck, check to see if it disintegrates in your lap while you are not looking.

I can’t talk about weak curves bent over floors don’t touch yourself you are not yourself come hug my neck.

She is drinking just milk out of all that blood–a trait I admire but could never replicate. My fingers are wrapped in a cat’s cradle with a

walrus, walking on his knit-needle teeth.

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