an island of fifty
“t u n n e l s
I V
Marsha is woken by the forest man
loudly licking lips beside her ears.
Licking lips of afox he caught mid-
howl with thick hands round its thin
neck. He wrestles her over a pathway
& into a hole. A fire burns. She
slips between dreamless sleep & the
underground chamber. THe man roasts
fox over his fire & watches her breasts
rise & fall. For whole moments the man
sits happy. He presents her with fox
ribs & the two suck charred meat from
yellow bone on the floor of the room.
We live like kings, he says.
This fox will please gods.
Your town is a hole of suspicion now.
I will to find the roots of dreams.
The man laughs & his tongue curls back
on itself, inside a toothless cavity.
You search for avarise.
& where may I find him?
She. A girl. She lies with the wild dogs in a field of poppies.
Take me.
Take yourself.
You will have nothing here.
I notice myself grow older & laugh.
You will not laugh forever.
No.
There are lines that run through time.
Tork fee waye undoe soo tra.
You are wrong.
Marsha runs from the room through
thr hole above their heads. She smokes
a cigarette on the forest floor & walks.
She wills to find the root of dreams,
industrial civilizations.
The Lunatic
People?
Floods will break their pristine red
bricks & the shards will slice their
sicksadbodies. They have no
maps. Avarice strikes matches. They
only want for more motors, the girl in the
field told me that.
Me?
No, no, no, no nobody lives in the
trees. Put down your flowers bear. You
have good eyes, Your mother never told
you? I’ll tell you now. I will hold
you too. We can live in a tree if you wish
it. I will paint your body, you will
like that.
You too?
That way, maybe; that way; here!”
- An Island of Fifty by Ben Brooks
