• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 11
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Her earwig mouth spins Catherine wheels
up to constellations reflected in her jellyfish eyes.
Her bee-buzz nose zings ideas, feeds fly-thoughts
caught inside the jam jar of her brain. Colour washes
stream and bleed on hallucinogenic evenings
when carrots ensure perfect night vision. Prim,
her clothes belie zany imaginings. At her feet
men puff and blow, inhale her mystic musk.
All is not as it might seem, it never was.
Lift her coverlet, or sneak in a stick to poke out
legion dust mice beneath her single bed. Don't
forget, before you go, place a gentle kiss
on her tracheotomised throat. The hole
made way back, when she required breath.