A Letter To Your Scribe, Upon My Death - Brianna Sulzener

Record the day I die, record the hour,
Record the method and do be graphic.
If I cowered before the axe-man, mark it.
If I let the horizon hold my gaze, describe
The horizon, and if it looked like a smear of ash
On gravel, like the kind of sky that isn't worth dying
For, admit it. Be empirical in your
Account—Don't write that the day I died
Feathers flew blue about my face and
There was a great finding of a great peace.
Don't plant flowers where there were none.
However, if your master asks if I spoke,
Though you know of who and how I spoke,
Lie. Say I was mute, say they cut out my tongue
before I could remember his name.

---

Published in the latest issue of Goblin Fruit

Photo post: Villefranche sur Mer

I believe these photos were all taken by Dr J, as 1. there are more than usual of me and 2. I think we only took the crappiest of our collective cameras, having plans (which went unfulfilled due to Amy getting heat-cranky) to go swimming.



( Obscure roads, Jean Cocteau, and a fortress )