016. No Know Now

No Know Now

016. prayer for CL's Sentient City

Note: It is written in ten minutes, and no doubt representative of the rush. But NaNo needed breaking from for a bit; and it's been so bloody long since I posted aught. Though I may--as last time--not manage five before the deadline.

:...:...:...:...:

This is my body. This is my blood.

I always like those words, somehow. Like I could get them in my bones and stretch them out—get them down deep, you know. I could hear them, just that with spring-straining of silver bells, like blood in your ears. Ring. Ring.

See, I don’t have blood. I don’t have a body—no bones; no body. Ring-ring. Can you hear me sing?

But I’ve got bones and I’ve got veins; and you’d never guess how many eyes.

I can see you now.

Your footsteps are the light ones, in long boots and sometimes I settle just to listen. I can imagine that’s what blood feels like, over bones—your steps, tingle, and flow, into the patter, ratted, tattered ring of others. There’s my heart. My arms are reaching out, far, far until they just rather dry up.

You never walked that far. Blood doesn’t, does it? Spill out at the ends. In and out across the bones and through the veins, but it only spills when there’s something broken.

It’s warm there. Last night, dusk—and my breath is slowing and the lights are dimming there—flats; my eyes dim. There—they light. GIRLS DRINKS LIVE MUSICBut there’s that corner, and my shoulder is cramped up and a boy lies, shaking, sprawled. It’s warm beneath him as he shivers out. This is my blood.

Ring-ring. My ears are still ringing with the gun-shot.

This is my body.

I haven’t one, you see.

There’s dawn in my light and dim where my bones stick out, crooked under tree roots and cracked by time. Your boots are light. They stumble.

He is no longer warm. He’s dyed slate scarlet faded scabbed to brown. And you’ve never seen blood before, never felt the tingle of it, never stood at my head where the man stands, bends, breaks: This is my body.

Your motion, movement—I imagine blood feels that way; but you’ve never bled out into where I run dry.

This is my blood.

I always liked those words, somehow. Like I could get them in my bones and stretch them out

Your footsteps are the light ones, in long boots and sometimes I settle just to listen.

Something about the "...in long boots..." part of this sentence almost doesn't make sense. Like it does, but it doesn't at the same time. It breaks the flow you have established here. I like the visual of the long boots, and don't think you should take it out, but maybe re-word it a little?

your steps, tingle, and flow, into the patter, ratted, tattered ring of others

Cluttered. I understand that what you're writing is very poetic and wordy in that almost-doesn't-make sense-but-comes-together-perfectly kind-of way, but this is almost over the top. I love your use of description and the multi-sense approach, but I think that like what I said about the last part, it breaks the flow of everything everything else and makes the reader have to pause and try to get back into it. Taking out a few comma's here and there could clean it up without sacraficing the words. Kind of like:
"your steps tingle, and flow into the patter, ratted, tattered ring of others."

far until they just rather dry up.

They should probably be "they'd"

Overall, I loved the word use and poetic qualities of this. I think it was well written, especially for having been done in ten minutes. Bravo, Imp. Another job well done.

Wow.

See, Tote, here's the awesome thing about you, and your ridiculous writing skills. You can make no sense at all, and I still get it. I've never, ever found a better writer, anywhere - and I don't suppose I shall.

For most people, this is where the 'anyway' or 'however' would come in. A nitpick, a messed-up contraction, whatever.

Naturally, there is no 'however' here. =)

Stay sane, Tweedle-Dee. I miss you - tell Jorshkumz he needs to cheer you up when he gets there by constantly talking like Mitch Hedberg. Or something.

ILY.

-SELA