I am finding this piece vivid and real and whirring, Lawrence. The
different centers are poignantly felt.
On Wed, Oct 8, 2014 at 3:09 AM, Lawrence Upton <[log in to unmask]>
wrote:
> Flesh cut back to bricks, numbers predominate. Lettering persists but
> conveys no nouns or verbs
>
> a few almost exclamations, no more.
>
> The integers endure, all lacking objects, hanging adjectival by suggestion.
>
> In due time, they pupate into substantives. One four seven nought nine.
>
> Arteries throb. Desires scream. Nineteen twenty-seven forty-five. He must
> die.
>
> An exploratory tool digs into the salt-laden mortar.
>
> He cannot bear it. He has died; an ejaculation of agony, and all the
> apparatus dry so that pain rebounds. Each bearing scatters at high
> velocity; and the pain returns, its echo and memory rolling round in blood
> jamming.
>
> More than agony explores and remakes itself automatically, something
> useless spun on a wheel under someone else's fingers being made useful from
> their point of view, a thing made other than it is by force.
>
> A branch stripped of its leaves.
>
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