Sophie Mayer

States of Emergency

Yumyum honey stomach. Who needs digestion when there's architecture
to be done. What we carry we carry for the generations (we forget). What
we pass from mouth to mouth. What other work is there. Lining up at the
flowerbed, waiting for the honeysuckle to truck with us. You, you and you:
hop on. Zero hours buzz. Among us, premenstrual, all that honeyblood
(say: gubbins, bucket, rusted empire, emergence: zygotic). And all that
bleedout earns no stripes for bumbled stoners. Where the bee's fucked.
Every flower a cancer stick, ashpollen an addiction. Consume until honey
stomach aches. Collapses in on. Now. Time to sweat the sweet stuff.

Mutant word. Beloved child I, self-scientist, made you
in the dirty labrat of my own flesh. Decocted with this blood
pipette (drip drip placenta). I coded you, neuronal processing
zeroed in. And one and one and one. Clonal --- ology,
or operant conditioner: a gloss on it. Maggie and mother and me
under the blowdriers getting a permanent. O follicle! when I'd
rather be down by the schoolyard, ****ing that waitress.
It's a redhead thing: recessively, Agent Scully-ily. I dream
of saying "Dana." Of her and a gun, the gun in her hand. No more
getting it in the neck, no more abductions to outer spa. It's time.
Push down. And down. Cells have multiplied, specialised. Innies, outies,
emergent networks. Yeah my brain is in my cunt: by blood & tissue,
by volution, by analogy. Women's parts have by far the more
windings and turnings. This isn't about making sense, it's about making
Word. Other / than logos. In's beginning, that that word.