Give Him a Stone, or Something

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Give Him a Stone, or Something

That man gave me bread, dinner rolls like stones from a patriarch, alumina crust shredding my teeth as I fed upon preservatives. He asked that I crush myself in return for his fuel, welling like pools of sand in my lungs, gritty and heavy, it is the texture of my soul after he kneaded it with his blunted fingers, needed it for flavour, sneaking pieces into the mortar, so potent they could be used for hallucinations. I swallowed at first because I wanted to be gracious; I was on my knees after all, determined to be a well-fed activist even though bilious, with deep-down rumbling thoughts of insurrection, visions that led me to believe the whole time I was grossly mistaken, unaware that those pieces were fake and my real soul is light, unlike those modifications so dense they could be used as ammunition. I spat everything in his face, fearing assimilation because everyone around him was a beautiful misconception of something productive, trading away pieces of themselves hoping to become something definitive, becoming instead something hard and intangible something primitive. I take myself out of the action to watch these illustrations, inserting captions. A woman with swollen knuckles a man standing before me, buckles in between them, something like a child wailing, mouth so wide I can see into his belly, so I offer him my little finger as something to suckle, only wishing that I could give him something more filling. They say spilling your tears is useless, but it is all I can do so I make tributaries and put us both in a basket, hoping it will take us away from the ferocity, the cemeteries, the crumbling, self-proclaimed dignitaries lacking porosity, with so many delightful answers, but never a question, never anything but deception. Drifting away, we watch everyone become specks in the distance, brushing them out of our eyes, but it isn’t their inability to homogenize, it isn’t their lies, but what lies before us, we tell ourselves, the anticipation of something glorious keeping us rebellious and alluvial while everyone else remains delusional.

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