Gargouille
the moment retching becomes embarrassment, or forgetfulness begetting regret I must stop before I’m full like eating stone it takes up more room than it already is yet I need more. get more expend more. crush it it calls to me a soul choice says the non-soul they could put the Seine down my throat— I'd still smoke on the roof every chance is a cathedral my eyes, like stained glass they manipulate light into permission dried blood and cranes yellow brown leaves saving places in books nothing is enough your bouquet should have been grass the children should have been quiet
Oohhhh Ootheca this is something.
The ending hurts…sounds like resentment at the ordinary world for not arranging itself correctly around the hunger// bouquet should be more primal// children should not interrupt the inner drama. It’s selfish. Damn.
i feel lucky that you post here