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• Artiste: Mantar
• Titre: On The Banks Of The Sad River
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The sun was cold though bright and the air stung our lungs like poisoned glitter in an early morning fugue of confusion and dreariness. The world was a bitter freezing nickel, dropped on the brittle winter ground the world lay there, the world lay there glinting balefully my arms were tender, dry, tiny matchsticks battering futilely against this icicle morning air oxygen arrowing into our bodies exploding there, in errant crystal patterns as though shot from a gun At this moment I heard your voice and I turned to you where you dwell inside my chest It was at this frigid moment that I heard you and the wires inside me tightened and I felt my bobbing puppet head speed up its rhythm and begin a dance almost obscene in its gyrations my hands trembled as I sought to contain you inside my ribs I pressed my ineffectual digits against the outer stillness of my jacket and held you there, wearily quelling the madness within--I am small often you overtake me it is at these times that I chase phantom orbs out into the snow that I envision the thin crust of ice over the sea forming in winter (forming in winter) bravely I attempt your continuing imprisonment but usually I'm vanquished by the power of your voice, the muted dominance of the demons in your hands you make me banal, dissipated when your voice begins winding its inappropriate way in a snakelike fashion in a snakelike fashion along the arteries of my body and through the great, gaping aorta that sends my blood out to fight every few seconds my blood out to fight every few seconds I grow faint, and wide-eyed...