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Description
Art (c) *Fealoki
Poem (c) *Fealoki

Happy Birthday Ruari.

Pencil and watercolour.

Kajortoq

the fox goes underhill
she lights her fire there
heating stones,
rocks shaped for wounds
irradiated they are
tiny suns in the black earth

passing behind glass
two cylinders cheating collision
I can see the underground cathedrals
from the train window
funnelling vertigo

I know she has a red hot stone
just for me, it’s planted
in the folds of the earth
pulsing invisibly

if I drop down
into the passing chamber
I can meet her, accept
the gift

‘stretch out here, stretch
your legs and even if I hurt you
do not move,’ her eye
is a convex atmosphere
rotating in the golden head
I can’t tell if she’s tricking me
or not, there’s too much
light in her skull to tell

‘if you stir you will die
because I shall not be able
to remove the arrowhead.
it’s the wedge of obsidian
between your heart and lungs,
it’s turning, with the slow orbit
of a black planet,’ her fingers
are narrow and stained with ink

‘don’t move.’ mouth eerily wide
cracking into a muzzle-long smile

under the low damp roof
hot stones cause clouds to form
they bump edges, uncertain
of their own physical properties

Kajortoq takes up the stone and
fits it into my wound, the clouds
turn pink with blood vapour
she pushes it deep in
between my organs
and I, in turn, am pushed
through the ceiling
into a world of lux and lucidity

no more the cauterised humidity

she tricked me
but it was the best trick of all

Description
Art (c) *Fealoki
Poem (c) *Fealoki

Happy Birthday Ruari.

Pencil and watercolour.

Kajortoq

the fox goes underhill
she lights her fire there
heating stones,
rocks shaped for wounds
irradiated they are
tiny suns in the black earth

passing behind glass
two cylinders cheating collision
I can see the underground cathedrals
from the train window
funnelling vertigo

I know she has a red hot stone
just for me, it’s planted
in the folds of the earth
pulsing invisibly

if I drop down
into the passing chamber
I can meet her, accept
the gift

‘stretch out here, stretch
your legs and even if I hurt you
do not move,’ her eye
is a convex atmosphere
rotating in the golden head
I can’t tell if she’s tricking me
or not, there’s too much
light in her skull to tell

‘if you stir you will die
because I shall not be able
to remove the arrowhead.
it’s the wedge of obsidian
between your heart and lungs,
it’s turning, with the slow orbit
of a black planet,’ her fingers
are narrow and stained with ink

‘don’t move.’ mouth eerily wide
cracking into a muzzle-long smile

under the low damp roof
hot stones cause clouds to form
they bump edges, uncertain
of their own physical properties

Kajortoq takes up the stone and
fits it into my wound, the clouds
turn pink with blood vapour
she pushes it deep in
between my organs
and I, in turn, am pushed
through the ceiling
into a world of lux and lucidity

no more the cauterised humidity

she tricked me
but it was the best trick of all