Jamie Thrasivoulou | Cobwebs | Apples and Snakes: Blackbox | Spoken Word


The cobwebs mask the cracked ceiling. Dim the strip light invasion. Surround the seat-less metal toilet like Christmas tinsel around the fireplace. Our man reaches for the buzzer. The cobwebs christen his eyes with sleep dust. The hatch opens to a polystyrene cup He drinks the dry water tastes the cobwebs on his tongue like popping candy. His breath is squashed to a pulp by the arachnoid children borne of his gullet. They swarm his glands, claim the space of his extradited tonsils He hums the nursery rhyme Itsy bitsy spider Reaching for the buzzer once more, he hangs in the air like a moth flapping under the light entrenched in the cobwebs of his mind he will never be free again. Cobwebs bleed out from the floor scale his legs, melt his limbs to the cresendo of an unfixed junkie screaming from the blue mattress hotel next door Light escapes from a chip in the glass The only speck they forgot to mask Cobwebs engulf his eyes like he’s wearing cobweb contact lenses He needs a fag He’s got the bacca Rizla and two matches stashed down his pants. He reaches in to his darkest regions producing a long thread of cobweb that the paraphernalia have attached themselves to He rolls with sweaty Rizla and smokes The copper is soon back at the hatch. Our man just exhales in his face and laughs. Laughs Laughs “C’mon. You know you’re not allowed to do that here lad.” “How on earth have you snuck it all in anyway man?” “No strip search duck. And where I’m headed the rule book’s out the window brother.” The hatch slams shut. and nowt more is said about it. The cobwebs weave him to sleep. standing up A pretty comfortable one too considering the circumstances.

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