Rotund toes and fingers and lips a swelling that only increases. A child’s grip replaced with ghosts of almost touches. Then the pale heat shivers. A jaw drops open the thought was stillborn. Give her the moon as dead as she isn’t. There is potential in her chubby grasp. Nearly human but not withered enough, a quail’s egg to the ostrich whispering speckled sermons in the face of encroaching white. Tides fold outwards relinquishing the three-day casket all fins and flipper and throat bloated rubber, before the purge it sinks to the graveyard. Starry corpses do not snap, crackle and pop in this milk filled moonlight. They do not leave a faint impression on gums. Afterwards even water tastes bitter. Give her a drink make sure it is frozen. Then watch the orchid grow lips, pouch, hood and stem three on three, a sestet of petals interrupted by a thirst for pollen. You forgot what you queued up for and buy chewing gum. No to cash back yes to consumption. Outside you light a cigarette that isn’t there. These are not possessions, you borrowed them and never paid the late fee. It’s greedy to eat the world with just your eyes spitting it out to save calories. Your stomach still swollen. This is not a house. You cannot live here. Moving day is over, unpack the tightly folded achievements from that coffin you won’t need a pillow. We lost your deposit. Everyone is trespassing. Can I see your invitation to tread inside the belly of the beast. Who said you could eat that touch that, be here. Home is where the abstract concept is, I hear there is no place like it.

Katie Smart