SYNODIC GANGLIA preview

 

Shaved under water. Breathing molten salt. The blinker’s crease hatched a bed of thrush. Elbow-deep in gagging’s saliva. Spit like mucus from lactic buildup. The sores from the brace have gathered moss, its hung ballast torqued by parasocial pay pigs. Death-health anticore bricked polyps on meat-heaves in mid-corrosion of shank-churned foam caulk, the post-tells overmined by substitute cutting. Lips sutured with chainlink. The buildings have been painted to look like cities from an aerial view, so when you’re driving through the streets it feels as if you’re falling through the world. A force predating the void that occupied space before the universe formed hasn’t so much returned as it has never left in the first place. I’ve become the kind of sub whose dom has to use the safe word. I can be real arrogant when I’m spiraling.

NCP / KS