the land i am from,
how i wish to preserve it in such a matter that
i could keep the dehydrated oceans from
enclosing my crisp pigmented limbs.

the light cannot be reflected from wings in the dark.

hang up your coat by the door, you say.
pin up the membranes of your past under the glass.

radiate upon me as hues pump through my vessels, old and new.
as i seek for the land i am from, a land with you.

it's a bit past midnight, i feel myself as an infant Moses, bobbing up and down on the Nile. there are no fresh cries nor an Egyptian princess to hold me to her chest, just smothered breaths within the bedsheets and a giant stream gradually converging around me.

You had fallen asleep. I guess so. Your breathing is smooth, if I could touch your breath, if I could touch the nightfall outside, the sensation would be the same. I no longer throw a fit for not receiving attention. I used to, but you had said, "Don't tell me that humans should treat each other equally. That's Utopic." At that time I told you to cease talking to me for two days. However the same afternoon you texted me your thoughts after reading 1Q84 (you emphasize you finished it in a week, twice the speed of me), and I accidentally forgave you. I still loathe those words, yet I grudgingly let it influence me.

"Am I kidding? I hate you," I say, pushing you off my bed and onto the ground. You sleep like a corpse. The bugs outside cease colliding into the window after the lights are off, remaining the bumptiously round moon. I imagine myself as Aomame, stepping into an alternate universe with two moons. I squint my eyes, maybe I'll see two that way. The orbed moon becomes clearer. I might be too near-sighted.

"You're too stupid. You have to space out to see two moons." Your voice comes from the ground. I pretend not to hear you but I try anyway. I really do see two moons.

You spend that night at my place, using up one-fourth of my handmade soap. I cut you a piece of frozen cheesecake, said: "The fool saved you." You say nothing. You have the fork in your mouth, staring at the bugs outside persistently slamming their bodies against the window. Your eyes are a cold desert after wind, clashing with mine, a murky swamp. "Tell me things about you," you finally say. I rub my eyes for a bit.

"A friend recently got a cat and specially brought it over for me to play with. That was the day I discovered I've been allergic to cats. The same night, however, a stray barged into my house and coiled up in my stomach. I couldn't see him clearly, but I hoped he was a tabby. Hoped that he had almond-shaped eyes. He was quite vain, didn't like me much. I met up with the same friend after a while and noticed quite a few fresh scratches up her arm. 'I heard that's just how it is when you have a cat," her helpless smile was peculiarly fitting against her flushed cheeks. I also subconsciously looked down at my own arms. There were scratches too. I quickly pulled down my sleeves, for I didn't know how to introduce a cat that even I couldn't see with clarity. 'But I really love it, that's why I'm fine with it scratching me all it wants,' the friend proceeded. The scratches throbbing under my sleeves suddenly came in contact with the scruffy material, reminding me that, me too, I also love my cat. Bliss flowed obnoxiously out of the friend. I abruptly became bored of her and made up an excuse to lay in bed for the remains of the afternoon.

It was very hot, even with the windows open. So I just lay there wearing nothing. That was the first time I witnessed the cat without question. Witnessed his claws pierced crudely through my translucent stomach, so much that my stomach also flushed red. I remembered my friend's happy flushed cheeks. Perhaps my body was fading out, for I could even witness the shape of his ears within my guts. They were big ears. He might be just like me, good at listening. I let him penetrate me. When I next regained consciousness, I could finally see what he looked like, because my guts had long been hollowed. Seconds before fear took over, I glared at him hard.

He was a grimy cat, indescribable in pattern, with a pair of murky eyes. It was as if he was laughing at me. 'You're so ugly! You're so ugly!' I cried, my own eyes shifting from murk to ripple. 'You just want my body.' I tried stuffing my scattered organs back into my open stomach. The cat stops in his tracks upon hearing this. 'Not just your body.' He leaves without a care.

From then on, my stomach always seemed eerily hollow. My organs remained but he did not. Yet the scratches on my arms began fading. I had the friend never bring her cat over, nor speak to me about such things."

grab me by the scruff of the neck and retrieve me from the gale outside.

the glow of the night clenches the window panes and wets the curtains,
the membranes of dusk and dawn blurred like your shadow and you.

i was born to you with my eyes shut and ears closed,
ensconced to your chest it did no harm.

the glands in my mouth dissolved the membrane and resolved the remembrance.

in the womb, i was bobbing up and down.

i washed up upon your shore,
amniotic waters rushing out of the closed canals of my downturned ears.

handed you my wee sailor cap and on your head it perfectly perched.

smear me with tallow

steer me through wallow


there is no anchor other than you

my body is a pond

pondering body of



a pastime of skipping stones

rippling raphes

limping lips

collapsing clavicles



pop a lilac on my iliac crest.



how many hops can you make before sinking in my ****?

how many stones can I take before drinking from your stash?



[Stone skipping (or stone skimming) is the art of throwing a flat stone across water in such a way (usually Sidearm) that it bounces off the surface, preferably many times. The objective of the game is to see how many times a stone can bounce before sinking.]

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my wellspring is a floodplain floodplain floodplain floodpain.