he is an eaten being
he lies curled in the factory stomach
like a child in the womb
the reds and oranges of life flash by him
His badly pressed humour stands in the wardrobe at home
Next to his wife's favourite dress. Her shoes sulk silently beneath it.
All that has died moves the shoulders into a shrug
Timid of the great fight, too, scared of being swallowed
Degraded by second place
the clothes at home are breast pocket
to sweetheart neckline, pushed together
they remember more tactile days
when, filled, they would touch
they quietly celebrate this memory
by refusing to part easily when required
their stubborn recollection of love
causes them to be torn apart in rage.
they wear their tears and rips with pride
and sting their owner's eyes with remorse
begging them to see that
she, too, is an eaten being
she lies curled in the factory stomach
like a child in the womb whilst
the reds and oranges of life flash by her.
Author notes
different approach, just trying out new ways of writing,
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Clothes in the wardrobe mirror the vascular/ topological connection by which the agonal pair are being eaten, in their unique configuration of 'the intolerable shirt of flame' -- the double factory stomach.
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Ahh Fay, so sad. I love the line about the shoes sulking, very visual.
This is probably a description of how many people would view things further down the line if they allowed themselves the privelige of reminiscence.
Excellent work as always.
Hope all is well with the two of you.
Much Love to both of you,
Mamma
xxxxx
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