Izzy circle


the scent of sex and bacon mingling,
lingering and twisting, touching fingertips
sunlight creeping in like bolts of silk

and the delicacy of your hands cracking eggs


Sarah circle


I pulled on my scuba gear and climbed into my own chest
With a plastic flag to plant in the sandy silt at the bottom
A burbling crowd of curious onlookers circled the banks
And I sank
Light and colour and noise all drifted away, far up above
The sinkhole became a keyhole becomes a pinhole
And I sink
And time

With a depth-drunk brain I see the oxygen tank and I see the little pointer and I see it’s in the red
There are bubbles in my fingertips and I’m blinking through stars
Dancing merrily I can’t catch them though I swoop my pruny hands to try
And a slug of a thought like lead in my head oozes slowly up and says
‘You’re going to die down here’
But real elongated, like
‘Yooooouuuuuuu’rrrrrreeeee goooooiiiiiinnnnngggg ttttttoooooooo ddddddiiiiiieeeeee’
And it sounds like a record set on the wrong speed
And with champagne in my fingers I laugh and I laugh

My mouth torn open and I can’t remember what for
From the outside it must look like I’m screaming



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