DWELLING, PART I

‘…the earth cannot become a shelter unless it is unfolded, or disclosed, by human appropriation.’

by Orestis Konis

Sediments

Lounging with death rattle parakeets on the settee palpably unsettled by their fluttering and screeching beseeching me to barter my voice for goods and take my body in for ransom apple green corpse flies zipline on cobwebs of camel milk with texture like the white life giving liquid silt and sand blown from the sedimented plains through the stinging nettles and the scent of turmeric and a drunken sun is wafting in through the ripped gauze fluttering by the screeching hinges of the blown out windows meanwhile the hyena is eyeing me suspiciously while its newborn cubs bite at my ankles

Volume

Great volumes of water in the sheen of a redolent dusk parting sheets of sheer rock forming colossal faces standing latent in recombinant postures of heavy silence open and eager to be decoded ushering gusts of wind belie the stillness of the vertical imposition hosting obstinate orchids in its orifices and pockmarked with clinging shrubs sheltering the caw and cackle of newborn chicks and echoing the hysteric laughter of the seagulls entranced and withheld in the sublime satire of expanse while tethered to the pole next to me a stallion grazes in muscular grace in an aura of myth swatting the flies on its back while the horizon slowly melts and crustaceans scutter up my unwashed shivering body

Envelope

In an acrid green leotard outfit wedged in an extravagantly verdant and relatively free form envelope trying to light a fire with a stick and flint the humidity weighing down heavier than an economic crisis yet the spark isn’t genuine and saline droplets burbling with irreverent chemicals sliver down the leaves in beads mimicking mocking the sweat droplets dripping down my skin with their unctuous chemicals bubbling and burning with reverence and reference while leopards and there are several assess me and find that there is only one possible point of reference for this balmy soiled figure I carry something the abundance of mosquitoes and the assortment of buzzing jungle politicians already sucking on my blood never even faltered in concluding

Bosom

Flowering gangrene on bosoms lying in the vineyards and the processed twittering of avian calls detuned produces a glitchy soundscape akin to the ringtone on a smashed cellphone lying by a set of bleeding split ribs in the neighbouring olive grove where the thaw and the ice are spelling out a grimoire dream and pestering gravity insists on pulling everything together despite the crystal clear sky limping like an amputee despite the crows scrying the scrunching and the mangled glaze seems like rotting poutine come alive under my feet reflecting the sleek fox elegantly swiveling through the dandy carcasses

Back

Jagged toothpicks of scarred bastard limestone like permanent fixtures on the acupunctured back of the cracked and weary crust the crags and crevices spotted with bulbous pinheads or distended brains and lizards and mice scurrying amidst the dervish dances of the dust devils accompanied by the screeching of the birds of prey circling above in the ashen sky swerving and gliding through the ripples and the air pockets and the outcroppings looming skyward like obscene antennas heralds and transmitters of the harsh static of the dry desert radio stumbling deaf and blind and asinine blurting baby talk through inflamed sinuous passageways while the sun burns down ceaselessly and the fire ants have started gnawing on my flesh while a horde of shiny beetles zips and zooms curiously over my animated cadaver in this excruciating light in this tortuous transparency

Photo Credit: Savvas Yerolemides

Click here to read DWELLING PART II