voices and visitors

this has happened before
the corpse of a woman known as mother
used as a vessel for speech
eye balls full black
staring straight to ceiling
mouth opening and closing like a puppet, reciting
It could be dementia or the hypoglycemia talking
it could be the voices in pharmaceutica
“father has taken the brown comb.”
i watch the bare bodied man, bent, struggling to get off the bed
she talks of black sesame seeds
she says, “follow me to the airport”
a man who has either the body of a priest or of young grandfather
wants to see my journal, to know that I am working
I cannot find it among the mess of my table, full of open art books
words are missing (though actively stored in memoriam)
color smudges, lines, erasure, disorganised
messy layered drawings
only later do I find the exercise book in my bag
i’m sure it wasn’t there before
one then walks through the night market, claustrophobic, wandering,
returning to more books and people
souls drawn to the flame of my created
#oneiricnovel #irvingpaulpereira

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