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Hazel Smith – The decision

Hazel Smith
The decision

Her back is want-stalling but she pickswings her way through plural
possibilities.  Steps without treading: the morning lemons and dilates.  Her
whispering-bed gestates her to the wince of the wish-fountain.  Curtains
flower-flounder: forms stumbling into mirror-maps.  It’s what she wants but
all her wants still swap and swamp.  One voice plead-pleasures louder than
the others.  But they are standing in a ring-a-round shaking their gunfires and
goldfish.  Hands are full of know-unknow: the law of alien rudders.

Then it’s pitch-night and the envoy bares his answer-sack.  Final and
forensic.  The clock buys sighs: its reason-rape.  Her thoughts are gagged: test
without trial.  She must breath-bear the wind and take a side stride while the
stand-by dice are stinging.  But a number ghost-forgotten screams and
scythes a base.  It’s done.  She has station-switched, ignited and arrived.

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