A device is proposed for the subcutaneous insertion of grace, in
liquid. Grace will form a blister under the skin, as it is not soluble
in blood. Grace can be held, in this way, closer to the body. The
subject administered to must be careful not to jostle the blister,
however, for fear of breakage. Grace is unstable, and quickly decays
to its constituents—mostly water and trace elements.
The cripple sun will snap its spine in a bad wreck.
In the sky it will hang at its neck, and the sharp angle of the drop
will tell us that something is terribly wrong. We will fit the sun in
a halo, but the screws at the temples will melt.
We will outlaw the seagulls turning overhead. We will outlaw anything
with eyes and access to air, excepting the artificial eyes of devices.
Heat will blister the dry dirt. Heat will flake the dead ground like
crust. It will fall in waves, in curtains, from the broken sun.
There will come a tiny girl dressed as an old man. She will hold milk
in her hands, and it will not drain through her fingers. We will ask
to drink from her cupped palms, and she will whip her threadbare cloak
about her, and tell us to wash out our indecencies before touching our
vulgar lips to her. We will know, then, that our mouths will always
be vulgar, that our breath will always carry disease, regardless of
the washing of the teeth or the tongue.
Anger will manifest visibly as white pearls. They will cling to the
skin, they will compound, until the angriest grow their own white
reefs across their fists.
In change will come regret. We will never regain what we have
transformed, but we will dress ourselves in the flimsy vestments held
so long in dressers and attics, and we will remember.
Even in death we will not escape what we have destroyed.
¶ 2:01 PM 0 Comments
