The ‘heap’
The ‘heap’ was a knot whose tendons were full bodies, increments of lives, bodies of ether, etherized limbs, limbs under stage direction, limbs and groins of air. The gaseous quality of our bodies at magic hour was of the sort that it (the knot) could be either an illustration that was stippled on very fibrous yet translucent paper, a logo applied to a ruined glass door beyond a heat flayed tinted alcove, a vibratto scribble, that is to say, a scribble that was circuitous, cursive, intestinal, bursting forth taut purple and steam. The glass upon which the scribble had initially been jotted and subsequently etched once its perfection was authenticated was consistently heavy with steam, with pulmonary moisture, as the grey blue of the coastal dawn. The window latch is kicked by an errant booted foot from the knot and the window descends, rakes the moisture, the dawn, the etching, and the knot from the glass. Thus replacing the representation of our contortion with the reflection of our contortion. The trace of the knot, forged at first from this gaseous temperment grows anew as with the dawn, unslaked by misfortune and ruin, breaches the soil.