"your ragged arch foes,/ your bed in rock, in magma, in thick sea slime,/ our fascination still, our morbid heart,/ our scattering like leaves"
from "Questions for Godzilla" by Paul Guest, p. 102
your hungry burned hands, your ribs in a vice, in milk, in deep violet mountains, our shifting envy, our breaking fists, our scattering like marbles, multicolored blue and brown and the sound of empty bamboo in an air-tight room. There is no room to breathe, a bed of rock, we trudge through thick sea slime, our morbid hearts whispering dark green syllables in the glow of an otherworldly algae. We scatter like leaves, unwilling to spoil the glory of your face, unwilling to upset the shadowy smirk crawling across our faces when you arrive at the doorstep.
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