i, shatter

you, and whose army?

The back of my neck hurts like there's an army of red ants stomping their boots on the knuckles of my spine. It feels like they're trying to crush it, the way lady-farmers in batik sarongs stomp up and down the golden hairs of dead paddies to break open the gaping oyster-like pods for their husbands.

But what would come out of the ivory white of my spine? Surely nothing as beautiful or satisfying as the dusty white grains of rice the lady-farmers bring to life with their naked brown feet?

No. The red army is crushing me for no reason. They can't squeeze anything more out of me. They know, life has already squeezed me dry.

red army

posted by lo! @ 8:50 PM