white infinity net
Snow touching snow. Petal and rhizome, asterisk, osteocyte. Splitcell and starry matrix of bone a sharp pain behind my left eye insomnia prickles bright as ice cream body out of bed to paint Once I awoke I could not walk, talk, the single blanket read, write drips its pattern the river's white stones like milk across the floor I got on my cardio glider I could not recall any details of my life frost climbs the broken window onto a hand monochrome net American emptiness space extending all directions it gripped me. and it released me. and it gripped me. O'Keefe's cow bones a vertigo of open sky and released me. no longer the choreographer of my life the crinkle of light on water decided I might become a farmer my consciousness shifted and paint on the side it was beautiful there by the underlying surfaces my unrecognizable hands to some esoteric space, witnessing myself fetal ball in an ambulance two planes crossing "We do not treat illnesses like yours at Bellevue" the dialogue inside white sound of water either the doctors would rescue my body texture of paint or this was a moment striking the tub of transition canvas visible beneath the myelin pollen and fractal mycelium threading outward to materialize rapture tens of thousands of arcs crawling off the canvas the atoms and molecules of my arm blended onto the table with the atoms and molecules of the wall onto the floor and my body gathered around could no longer define the boundaries invisible points of gravity microscopic lights accumulating mass hundreds of millions of white pebbles 'What makes it even more terrifying—' 'Remarkable. Not terrifying — remarkable.' each individually verifiable really "existed" there the stones' white spirits the brain stem potential the riverbed for death where she hid nets of light from her family monochrome obsession the grackles' human voices into consciousness the ash of paintings fell like the ash of flowers respect for the cells composing repetition compulsion a human form stage or trap tightrope, safety net blood clots flowering water in the fibres of language between meaning and sound forty-five hours dissolving English into white thirty-seven years into white painting from pre-dawn I had to relearn the words into deep night for peanut butter, for tuna fish to describe what was happening inside my body enveloped the single particle of light I didn't know if there was anybody I was supposed to be mad at before it was all gone that was my life 'Are there mysteries of the brain that are better left unsolved?' 'No.'
Madelaine Caritas Longman‘s writing has appeared or is scheduled to appear in magazines including Matrix, CV2, Room, and filling Station. She lives in Montreal.
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