Αναρτήσεις
I put my soap on, the tea in the enamel cup is coming up to the lip, then disappearing, then coming to the lip again. A stray pen is rolling back and forth, stopping at its holder. Late summer weather. The silhouette of the castle of Dunnottar could show any minute now, every minute now. Yet the only thing to be seen is a vague horizon, marinating in its own sweat. We'll roll and then we'll yaw, we'll dance on the water, whatever's customary, but we'll never reach the other side. The berth is fixed, the world might be moving but I'm surely not. Stonehaven will remain a ghost, and we'll stay where we must, by the oil fields.
No one can beat me at the sport of reticence, but give me a spark and I'll make you glisten with shame. Gunpowder tea with a dash of milk from the can, the moustache takes a dive, the pen rolls off the desk onto the floor, it could be easy like that, but you are so stubborn, who'd dare stand in your way? You struck me like lightning, I made you ruin your life, a man of his word. Now I'm near Gannet and you're out there in the mud, standing in my unorthodox footsteps, where the receding waters revealed the fallen crabs and jellies. I think of you in every language I know. I think of you in my flesh, there's no thought to this thinking.
