Liz
Kirby
| no
warning in force sandbagged against the crumbling wall the lorry backwards down the slope not to be stopped once momentum gathered shredded plastic river dam debris of the flood line back there hot gasses rising further back there was forward forward we refuse we will not our yes for the no of immediate noise now waters rise over the whole heart each chamber say shut down over this lodge shut hand open closed mouth parted turned head turned body become rush against another further know canalisation of these beech trees may not in the drought dam locked up in shoulders that do not soften look into your own eyes liquid already mark the bass of your breath a vibration that causes a circle where the sun might a touch of talk travels through muscle and bone to tremble between triangle walls state of the tongue as it textures a fricative channels it down to the tip the lips the throat the lungs combine movement’s intention percussion of air some unimaginable language deep vowel opens a sweating flood forming a grammar in the open mouth fuck fuck fuck syntactical precision viscous sounds travel back down through the taproot to speak >>>Max Richards
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