part 2

my soul is spilling out of my eyeballs.

doubt tends to sink in too quickly to comprehend. it digs at your stomach, and you make decisions without consulting the sky first. within a few hours you have thoroughly screwed up 10 months of architecture, painfully rendered. it hits you like nausea, but you don't heave. you just shudder inwardly and pushpushpush on.

so you walk barefoot along the road in the dawning light. three wealthy south africans jog past you, thankfully pretending not to noticed your dishevelled state. the sidewalk is still damp from the night's shower - that's it. you need to wash it off. then sleep. but the waking - there's the difficulty, now.

where to? somewhere else. home, real home, not necessarily a specific bed but specific company. that's what makes it, and will make it better.

but of course. it goes unattended, and festers. with eachandevery day the wound you thought was just a slight nick goes deeper than you could see from where you are. your blood is thick but becoming poisoned. there is no remedy here.


my voice cracks. thesoundsurroundyou. it wells up and overflows, my head tilts back. i am silent, sightless. the crashingjoltingrushingnoise burns the image from my eyelids.


disappointment and disgust mingle like water and oil. they drip down the back of your throat,

where to