The dirty black water waves against the white stone. The dirty black water glimmers in grey light in flashes of near white. The black rope tightens and slackens in the water.
It flows like a sullen old man in a bombed-out European boulevard.
The dirty black water bears dark blue ships. I close my eyes. I feel the slime beneath my hands. The rough jetty surface, the scaly sea-wall surface. I feel it under my slime skin.
Arpeggio of emotions: doldrums of ecstasy doldrums of ecstasy. Your fingers stroke me as I lie sideways in your lap. The feeling slides off my cheek and the deck and my beach towel flutters in the wind. I pass through. Stages.
No, that’s OK, I don’t need any help thank you, I’m hurt already. And the thing is in pieces. So when do I cry if not now, and if so, at what? White chairs in a dark wood with fairy lights. I try to blank. The muscle-queens who wanted me to be a unified, non-contradictory being, singing these worm-songs.