And even then the passion cry drowns everything until one second is one thousand seconds and one thousand seconds are one. We were mudpeople wearing watches but the mud dripping off our bodies was seeping into the clockwork, sweettalking the cuckoo, turning time back. We were mudpeople turned back to mudchildren embracing mudchildren as mudchildren do. Because shame is not something that mudchildren believe in. Because shame is something that no one should believe in. The crows gawked shamelessly, and talked in thick accents muffled further by their wings. They said “those mudpeople are so wet. They’ll soon catch cold, but if they go inside to shower the mud will melt, and if the mud melts they will age, and if they age they will no longer... oh my!
What is a mud person to do?”
xii. “the goddess of the teak tree is located here.” She pulled the vines back. The shadows on the concrete walls are real. The light is something to crawl towards rung by rung, like I crawled towards her hands. When I arrived at her village I ripped my stomach out of my middle with a sickle. I knelt by her thighs and held my red organ overhead as an offering. My blood