
Mrs C***h
On the laps of Chaise longues, I stuttered (didactic directed over came) my ill-advised confession. Why did they blame me? Forced through an eyelet, buttoned-down cleat. Remembering the moment, but consonants failed me. Recanted reference, no image or sounds.
Incongruity stored in 3rd hand jars, sentences written, but intent is recycled. This walled Habiscus cordon, whose scent overarches all, encompassed me. Useless, careless, the concluded signed. Water into blood.
If hairs on horizons record all collisions, then no information is lost at its entry. An awkward inventory, in answer they delve, perturbation in mathematics, dirty hand, number twelve. In nines bracket, tens grasp, held in heaven.
No vast significance, relief, no it’s neither eleven. All spoke, of evens, their Masonic treason. None to consider, entrenched and embitterment. Light, meaning twinning. Thirteen’s the beginning.
That pencil retentive redacted to scars. No permanent marker to delineate hers. Uppity chrysalis, cacophonous cocoon. The surfaces amplify necessity’s bloom.
Across open palms, poised, at shoulder height. Slur. Evidential, slanderers “do not disturb” (trite) I indicated my removal. I become an ominous object. (I’m Knott) I climbed until the branches thinned to alveoli.
There sprung movies playing. Intrepid implored in the rafters un-sawn house a-top cookers. Whimpering determined, internalised growl. A par. Which course? Yet to be plotted, as navigation is impossible in this wake. It’s oscillation an interference generator.
The comfort of Sofas. Of Lilly’s rich valley, her softest tone. I’m fond remembering, saved up, ran home. She protected me. Encouraged my candour, enlarged my calligraphy. To a point, without magnifier, the naked optics might see.
I wrote, but in such tiny gestures, at a glance, there just was no structures. Little by lancing, the bubble succumbed. In realisation’s evolution, it’s plummet pent encryptions blossomed.
Seclusion illusions are often diluted by blind-folds. Sold.
https://www.cancer.gov/publications/dictionaries/cancer-terms/def/alveoli
About the Creator
Paul Beckett
I’m a writer, horologist & joy filled explorer. Reality to me is plastic. I’m fascinated with time, quantum physics, analogue and fashion.
My writings at least 69% autobiographical, often 99%
Fav:Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams- S.Plath




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