| Up: 25 May 98 | [Related] «^» |
Phosphorescence
By Paul Ford
You're like the lights I see in my head when I turn too fast. They break apart at the edges of my vision the moment they appear. Then, everything goes back to normal, except shadows of the lights have burned themselves into my eyes.
I need to explain this brightness. It's not primal fireflies. Rather, the lights have rough edges, like pieces missing from a puzzle put together over an old silver curtain.
I'm no longer afraid of the specters. Every time I turn too fast, they come. Each time they leave, the same shadows remain.
They persist like a cut inside my cheek, and I'm caught between the pleasure of biting the sore and its natural pain.
It's been this way for a while now, at least since I've gotten old enough to see the shapes clearly. I can't remember, but I would imagine I've had these visions from the moment I came out of you.
I've learned to watch your dark shine without straining my eyes. And so, when the glowing edges of my eyes see light, I open my mouth in the posture of shouting and bite hard.
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