Bloom Where the Roots Grow

Bloom Where the Roots Grow
by Luca Lucia Redwood
You truant rat – you exist in a particle of a recognized partiality – more virginal than I – more furious – Every word you have uttered – everything you have seen – every event in your life has lead you to read these words – This moment is, therefore, sublime; – it is your death and your conception – I am your tapeworm – gnawing at the walls of your stomach – tormenting your bowels – terminating your growth – I am a mosquito – sinking my teeth into the perfumed breast of your sibling – I am the fine oak of your parent’s conjugal bed – I am a debt you can’t pay – So who will blink first? – I cowar behind Venetian curtains – waiting to spit – And you, reclining in your grotto of self-obsession, – molest me in the dark – whilst I admire my reflection – the shadows around my eyes – the silk of my hair – like a holy mass of weeds squeezing the life out of the flowers your spouse planted in your garden – And what you fail to notice is that all of this about me alone – and how celestial my voice is – and my perception of how vile or beautiful you are – gracious reader – gracious spectator – graciously nullified.