π»πππ’ π΄ππππ
πΈπ π’ππ πππ ππππππ, πΈβππ πππ’ ππ ππππ π ππππππππππππ
ankle socks in genius knots
inventing new ways to fold a shirt
big dog barks at me
your foot crawls up my leg
Please stop making memes of Jesus.
things to have Faith in:
The truth, ephemera, cheeseburger, hey Dad.
feel your foot on my leg again
clawing onto final words
βDig into the manifold feast of delusion!β, says the King
make sense with science fiction
he scoffs at the intensity of gone forever
Please put pickles on top of mustard and cut the whole thing in half.
hitting balls with bigger things
catch a break while the pace of my breath quickens
jogging between white lines
thoughts canβt beat beauty
when itβs strange
appalled by the stillness of time
when laying down
cells of divinity calm me
Please let me be everything.
π·πΆπ π°πππππππππππππ
I have undergone a week long haunting
of boredom, of dead souls bearing boredom.
And throughout, I have witnessed nothing tied to the βpresentβ
only to the future and the past.
In this haunting I have remained awake:
witnessed birds die on concrete
and dog crap slide off roofs
into another dogβs nosey mouth.
Fisher, Deride, Marx and Magritte
follow my tail as I walk the narrow corridor
I am too poor to consume anything more
than thoughts suggested by male thinkers;
Too poor to buy books by female authors
K. Le Guin or Harraway
poor enough to write in a harrowing effort
to make the future arrive sooner.
In the end my host is my haunting
sneezing, coughing, screaming, laughing
an endless rouse of quasi-debauchery
floating beneath us
inside a buttery crust: the present.
Lucy Earle is a performer, writer, and researcher. Her work has been featured in SPREAD Mag, Interfold Magazine, Liminul and The Void. She recently co-authored MontrΓ©al Invisible, a book about 20 βlostβ sites across Montreal. See more of her work at lucy-earle.ca