There are two cautions for my readers
1. this is fiction, purely fiction – and quite horrific.
2. It’s not new but has been written to a prompt
The reason for this is that Gay wants us to note our own beat, by marking it in the text by marking stressed syllables in italics. I have tried to do this below by using a prose-poem which I think is closest to my internal beat. I hope I did it right, and the prosepoem should be new to everyone but Brian.
Warm sand meets my bare feet and tells of losses, of sorrows but now also hope. The sea might have taken all away, but writhen canopies murmur soft songs of consolation in my starving ears. Filigree shadow patterns on the ground remind me of the way your hair used to dance in the ocean breeze, and I can hear your laughter in the wind. Memories of screams and tresses of your dying hair plastered to your skull are waning as striations from your nails are becoming faint lines on my muscular forearms. They are my victory-insignia to your wanton chicanery.
August 14, 2014