Published at Otoliths
Autumn 2019
Sonic Eye
by Alison Ross
The sonic truth of the matter is that I can't afford tar any more than I can afford to fly solo with my throat intact. The mask that you hear on the wall in my mind is an elevated version of the scream that you see at the bottom of the well in a distant flowery galaxy otherwise known as my breast. The abrasive chunks of matter careening toward your soulful eye remind me that a constant repetition of cats is akin to a smashed-up skull smeared across a checkered floor. The cacophony in my hair resides in the melody of smells emanating from your television that teleports you to a revision of your vision.
The sonic truth of the matter is that I can’t afford anything in this universe beyond being a vagabond with an eyeful of soul.
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