Anaesthesia I've a funny feeling on my face. I don't think it's quite in the right place. These words you find on some line, as I've lost the use of mouth. Formulated in time by a mind whose metre is composed in doubt. Started with a piercing sting entering, behind gum and between teeth. nerve-shot string feeling, bubbling up from beneath. Needle taste with hard heft had left circular flesh-strewn opening. Slack-jawed with hymn and haw, praise be to gods and offerings. I've read four pages of chemistry, when I should've been studying history. Those words bled ink; spoke to me; I am committed but not my memory. "Moisture-robbing salt in its presence a substance is highly prone to deliquescence." - a term meaning longing for water, like pond skaters in slippery saunter. Eyes glare in the dark like some fairy-tale monster; Godmother sweeps up dust somewhere yonder. Dark orient skirts my periphery. I awake to a hole where my tooth used to be.
Giuseppe Gillespie – October 2021
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Giuseppe Gillespie Writing 