the focus of attention is on words, how they meet, change each other, react.the focus of attention is my breasts. they are larger than usual. they are solid and round. my friend point this out. your breasts are enormous she says. this is definitley an exaggeration but still they are larger.
i am ripe, ready for the picking. i will fall into your lap.you can't remember a body for long, you can't remember a kiss. i feel sick. my palms are swelling. i am a collection of patterns some of them unpleasant. i want to penetrate , to break apart. are you the doctor? im smocking a cigarette. i need a whisky, bushmills, blackbush, a rope between two rocks, hexagons or pentagons, fiffty pence pieces, the water beneath, the ground swelling.
who invented the clock? he assassinated time and for what? this noisy machine incapable of travel? this measurmement of pleasure?
there simply aren't enough hours in the day she said as she turned towards the window and flattened a fly. they lay their little eggs and rub their little hands together, i'm sure one of them is my ex. he flies around all night buzzing buzzing buzzing keeping me awake and when i open the window he won't fly out.
i draw a map to my heart. i fold it up in my boot. the focus of attention is your right eye. i lick the lashes. my tongue is strong it presses against where the lids meet. and your ear, i take the lobe between my lips, i let my tongue find a way inside. it pushes between and around, i hear you breathing.
the focus of attention is here, in words.what do they make? a mess. i must clean them all away.erese. the bad stuff.
you don't want to open the book too much.don't want to crease the pages.
my friend. he massages my shoulders. we talk about sex. we arrange an orgy.he designs a machine which will squirt lubricant into room. everyone will be naced.
the focus of attention is my mother. she has small hands, pale hands, freckly hands. she makes wheaten bread like my grandmother. grandmother gone to a hole in the ground. said goodbye.looked inside a red cloth and scattered earth.don't bury me in a box. set fire to my body ,push me out on the river.
the focus of attention is what i am talking about. can you see it on the horizon. close one eye.close the other. watch my finger,left eye,righteye,see how it moves and yet stays still. this is not a love story.this is not a story at all.
how much have i writen?let me cont the words.language should strech further than this.
trust no one.not yourself. you are fallible. i look up doubt in the dictionary: an inclination to disbelieve. what do you expect? i look up faith in the dictionary and find it blind. i ask my mother -why is it wrong for boys to wank? a wase of sperm. i don't ask her about girls. a pool of sperm is drying on my stomach. it will peel off like glue.
more patterns to put down and remember as myself. trust me you say. a whisper a doubt a reason for disbelieving. dense blood drops down and slides. i rub it into the earth.
i need to touch something solid to know i am alive.
the focus of attention is my feelings for you, your feelings for me, your feelings for someone else blah blah blah
pack away your feelings, entertain your reason.
listen to mee, can you just listen to me? listen to me, can you just listen? the focus of attention is the prize. i win the prize for the biggest fool. should i stand in the corner? should i stand in the corner with my head against the wall? lightly bashing, not hard enough to break the skin , not hard enough to break the skin.should i stand in the corner with my back on you? you watching me, watching my shoulders, the back of my neck. it is nice to be so close to something solid. the wall is cold. should i smoce another cigarette> should i drink some whisky? if i swallow enough stones will i be strong? strong enough? i win the prize for the biggest fool. i'll stand in the corner and everyone can point and laugh. what is the prize? a bunch of dead flowers? an empty box of chocolates?
we tell the same stories over and over again.
it is not reasonable that i should desire you. it is not desirable that i should reason with you.
we put our hands behind our backs becaouse we should not touch.
the light stays now until nine. do you remember the summer?

were you listening? were you listening? repeat the last line.


small series of endings. nothing of importance you would think. nothing to change or correct or amend. i ask the river to teach us to blend without breaking.
the focus of attention is in the words. how they meet and change each other, react.



THE SOUND OF MY HEART CLOSING