Glasfryn Project

 

 

 

the intersection where voyeurism 

meets the sick-fugue

 

 

we must unplug ourselves

unconscious at delta

 

we met in a sick building

trouble all over the face

 

the men gathered and tweezed the blood fluke

from the house girl’s throat

 

the cat performed a protective function

soaked up the gamma, theta, delta

 

it will be years before I understand

how to redress the failures

 

at the bridge at Waterman’s quarter

we were warned

 

the war is not in the air

it is deep in our bone marrow

 

downstream. in the reeds

careless with our bodies

 

weeping & welting

it was a turning on myself

 

an unworlding of heartache

an ending of gestural life

 

 

 

 

a Spinozian view of being a

maternal substance

 

 

sex drive as a pathology of empty phrases

love, what foul play

 

so impish and unrelenting

I was your girl but only with mannerisms

 

what do we hold in our bodies

so many sick hearts

 

let noise emerge from hardship

little house-girl

 

collapsed on one side

you can’t get out of the disease state

 

unless you have lived in it

pulse therapy for the house girl

 

in the absence of remission

organise the body according to the pluralist culture

 

a pretty demon

enters the house-girl

 

unprepared and exhausted

with socio-spatial anxieties

 

with a heavy jaw, & heft word play

it isn’t a secret that I feel irrelevant

 

 

 

 

still not dead but catalogued 

as a patient

 

 

& feeling irrelevant is a way of staying healthy

forcibly hunting for what has vanished

 

bearing the mark of the house-girl

whose epigenetic backtalk is just a perverse tracing

 

hewn up from the rehearsal of being in a body

Outside there is desire & ceremony

 

& they must be acted upon

the house girl has done the emotional work of ceremony

 

so I can live life in the margins of desire

the lilies are in my mouth again & I’m ready for seduction

 

everyday I think about the filth of my inquiry

how to rule my body from her mouth

 

blood-flukes are in her throat again

& my eyes are falling out

 

to itemise each wallowing

or push back against the credibility of the linear model

 

the house girl is waking at 4am

with sad lungs and a feeling of impermanence

 

that is to say,

occupying the grief corner

 

 

 

 

the uneasy stasis before agency 

like territories unfolding 

 

 

it is a matter of the finer details, the Eve condition

the final line when there is no finish line

 

inexhaustible over action & inaction

in the hope of privileging the body’s double coding

 

abuses in the woman-house

the knotty apology

 

that has failed the female for centuries

urges her to be self-detached

 

unwounded, the house girl develops

& recedes. in habitus

 

the charm itself is less than stable

a critical factor is knowledge of the hex

 

couldn’t fit you in the same plot

yet my mouth is on your shirt

 

at dawn, I am just a sick body

tracing words to the moment I mouthed them first

 

sero-negative

serum tells us nothing except

 

we’ll never again wear the clothes

we wore on diagnosis day

 

 

 

 

the event inside favours the complex

joints: shoulders and knees

 

 

at night, the house-girl reads about logic

to avoid the fallacies of possession

 

how many mouths have mouthed change is coming

in the hope of forming a new disposition

 

but logic only comes to the non-afflicted

& else operates in different realms

 

the men gather again with their own logic

tweezers to bone. stoic with the task

 

the house girl is stuck down

I am not sure if she is held

 

or holds herself

over-coding her screams

 

November stretches in both directions

my health is a forgery but nobody can see it

 

there is hiding the clapper bell

needles into the Earth’s flesh

 

& needles into the body

they say: try stay safe by separation

 

my brothers give me a Schlag-ruthe

they already know I’m a water witch