'In the old days at home the Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey was quite different now, and...
i imagine somewhere that my wings beat like static and discard the sky in favour of seawater.
i swallow spoonfuls of salt as my arms dissolve and become aqueous in ribbons and tendrils of light.
and "no, you don't," is all i'll say.
when they pull me from the water in cups and saucers and dislodge me from the mud and leaves that gather to decay at my feet --
i see my blood wings perish in the daylight but with tenderness they'll pluck my feathers from the tar and find my bones scattered amongst the stones and cuttle fish --
the white of my eyes will be like milk where once i would have told you, "they are called sclera... do you ever wonder when goodbye is the last time?" and when i close them, and no camels pass through -- deadliest then, my deadliest sin is that i died too much -- in silence.
(13/05/2017)
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