A Neighborly Assault – Dave McLeod

February 12, 2021

(I marked the spot where the sun seemed to hoard all the resting hearts that strained your eyes until they ached. All the choked, stopped, clogged hearts of hundreds squeezing the muscles free of fluid. Wrenching the ribcage into a presentable prison.)

(Harmful you still wants the voice of other’s pain. That issue of harm still hides in the same dark as the devil device you devised for love. Useless unless your nowhere is found and bombed before it’s sought. Unless the unique bomber creature becomes another useless utterance. The noise of brightening rock and cloudless sea.)

(Seal the windows and doors. Heal the wounds of this house before the violent sea intrudes, before sickly ink tattoos our home unlovely. Bottom feeding sea sperm committing grievous childly harm on our body of land. Our belly of labor exploding children of the sea. Drunk black light chases a stone through the window. The note reads: STOP iF YOU WANT TO LiVE OR DiE!)

(Bugged dialogue crawls around your sockets with sand. Every sixth or so hole bores a diamond instead of a stone. It’s painful listening, teaching, and praying all at once to cloakroom creeps. The noise of discipline transfers wrinkles from your brain to your heart and blood from your wrists to your bladder. The stones collect and become a soft horde blowing your brains and guts out. There’s blood in the hair in the toilet in your mouth.)

(It feels like love sometimes. The invasion. The assault. Its absence of silence and witholding of sources. The screaming sonorities of suffering that echo beyond death. Beneath the skin dying guts wheeze and work for unconscious aims. Everyday waves turn the pages on earth’s frightened crust. We are the heart of silence and sea that cannot dissociate or die. Primordial, we are born infectious.)

(The germ of truth lies in the burning nest that swallows your milk. The trouble lies in the way you wax poetic about ejaculate. The truth is in your need to pursue lies. The bombs are ticking. Prickly little bombs tickling your taint. Milky twigs and regurgitated germs in the burning nest. An animal bird-thing tumbles out of the nest, not yet born enough to live. Its dying sounds are like tiny explosions.)