“Conclusions on the Wall” by Glenn W. Cooper | Pinterest | Facebook | Blind Dog Press
Three Entries from a Fly’s Diary
I touch people like a monsoon lover nestled in the folds of
shiny valleys. I touch them where the water runs dry, where
God settles down at night. Flit around a fruit market, pulp of
a ripe orange spilling out of velvet lips & splitting concrete.
I touch the fruit but they don’t touch me back. The papaya feels
like a slick leather forehead pulsing under my spindly black legs.
My mind can’t help but wander. It’s part of my nature like flight
& hunger. The birds have it good, they’re all up there digging
holes in space while I’m heavy & hunted like a goddamn whale.
Colors drip out my peripheral vision, blend together like mother’s
fingers as she weaves the spindle round & round, round & round.
Everything spins so fast & it feels a little like blindness.
When night comes, the lanterns descend & I’m scared the fire will
escape & swallow the sky. Look at these humans, look at their skin
glisten pale gold under artificial lights like ghosts, like skinned
scallops, bodies stacked on bodies, tide washing in & out, in & out.
My God, they tuck their secrets away so well: in the caves in their nose,
the hollow of their neck, the crevice between their legs. I hide so well
with their secrets but it’s such a shame there’s nowhere for them to hide.
The moon full & my stomach empty, yearning always yearning.