The Sex Life of Fire
Posted by:
Jennifer
()
Date: February 28, 2019 08:46PM The Sex Life of Fire
We walk into the starless night. The ground beneath our feet is wet with babies’ blood, the sticky mud of once warm life tossed out, discarded in this restless resting place where little souls are laid in layers of the lifeless dirt, found guilty of desiring to be born, to breathe the air of morning, afternoon and night, feel the sun’s befriending warmth, be held by ones who were supposed to be waiting, who must be waiting for them. They too had love to give for they were someone, not nothing, not no one, no matter all the worthless words that can be said, though they themselves never had a chance to speak. Somewhere before this life, unspoken sentences of tenderness were formed and then cut off before they could be said, cut off in ceremonies of lifeless latex hands and disembodied masks that float in blind bright auras of white rooms with antiseptic smells, while mother lay there waiting to be done with them. The love that was their right, fetal expectations formed from instinct in the womb or long before, was cut away with knives and suction tubes, cut out by deadly rays from strangers’ eyes, pierced by sterile unclean hands and death addicted minds, all professional — and just like mom, in a hurry to be done with them, get on with something more important. How much are a couple lungs, a heart and brain worth anyway — five hundred bucks, more or less, though often lives are nullified for free, so anxious the community of the living to abolish them, to lock them out of consciousness forever — flush them down a sewer pipe and float them out into the cold dark trenches of the sea. They must be dissolved, erased from memory, you see, and if mother feels regret or pangs of guilt there’s always counseling to heal and medication to forget. ~ Roderick Falconer Sorry, only registered users may post in this forum.
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