withering

soporific radiance
is what turmeric curtains
give. i remember the girls sat with their backs
against them. how if you timelapsed this place
the light could be seen
doing crunches halfway up the wall. i forget
how the split second has no corresponding
whole. everything fits in. whenever something
dramatic happens, the girls swoop
away from the wall as if rowing
their way back to the centre of modest river.
or they are the source cramping at the bottom
of pond, the carpet covered, instead of with plates,
ash and underwear, in perched dragonflies, water lilies.
the film moves them & ends. the room
stills, doesn't end, is served with pepper, honey
& ginger, stirred, sipped, put down. the spoon
opens its reverb hit to the side. girls sit with legs
on either end of their breath, saddled
to what they think possible, their yawns
running up against the quiet as if at a wall placed in an open
field. i forget when the room settled
under eyelids though it could not stay there.
and i wonder whether i told it so
(i mean: you cannot stay here)
from another room, where the foxes
and fire escapes could see me naked.
where fans whirred at the sight, whipping the air
in the air into dust.

Nasim Luczaj hovers over puddles and DJs under the name [underthunder]. Recent projects include SWATSIGHT – a lyric essay and artists' book on aphantasia (the inability to form visual imagery). www.nasimluczaj.com