Mad Maude textile fragmentby Veronica Aldous
Maja is lying in bed with chocolates, two in each hand
Melting hotly like a wilting clotting sheaf of leaves
Books surround the empty empress, books on how to
Do it. How to. Help the self.
She is erasing messages; they go into etheric zones
Of silence, the words hanging unsaid, unread
The phone screen is smeared and smutty
There is no skin to touch or tend, no finality
It’s as though there are still all the things to do
Mounting up somewhere. Is he, she alright?
Oh disgusting squalor of weeping snot
Oh aspirin and lavatories and throwing up
Panic sets in around each hour
A mantel clock set to kick her teeth in.
Eggs separate. One is meringue, the other a rich sauce
We are not eggs. Our substance is inseparable
The extraction feeling is ooof oeuf –
Badly anaesthetised surgery flashbacks
Meanwhile his ectoplasm dances angrily
On the dark ceiling
She calls the nocturnal spirit-police
He’s stalking her dreamscapes.
Veronica Aldous 2016 all rights reserved.