#lara glenum

Vision’s the bomb Just by looking you can blow so many girls to crying pieces

(I say: Like Hell. I place white-out here, over the meaty celluloid that it may congest with sick stars. I scratch out these skewed limbs hanging on the tree of sight. I cut out chrome skies, pink anemones, chalk cliffs, and flue them onto the patient screen. We are not bodies, we are nimbuses of static seeking our starry capes of flesh. And I, without you, a moth pinned alive.)

In their jars, the embryos float, each in its corona of nails, a bleak eye turned toward Heaven.