Jaie Miller


INSIDE 9

we sat inside 9. waiting. Time rose before breaking off into four directions each. An edge spun in such a way to awaken the first smile of the evening. It was hers. The first to catch my eye. Six. Directly across from me a man who was internally recalling his instructions. Eight. We caught each others eye. He registered it and continued as though it was exactly synchronized with what he was doing. For the first time my heart uttered a mature breath, it was swift facing the 4. of all of us who had gathered inside nine, I was the smallest, the funniest and most attractive. My tongue tasted like cigarettes. Fire was not permitted inside nine. Twelve. Above us was the rotation of an axis centered upon configuration. It wasn't my job to discern the combination. So gentle. So still. Again, somebody made a mumbling noise, it sounded like the title of a book. "now" the instructions whispered us into action . Before entering nine, our corresponding journeys had been erased, we were told to wait until someone gave the signal and then begin our duties. Mine was embarrass-ing. To undress the gate that looked like- she had transformed! A golden light was now pulsating in her palm, it grew upwards, slowly crystallizing, I could locate quartz, amethyst, then nothing, tourmaline, moonstone. One stood and entered her left eye. I was half way undressing the gate, looking back. Damn this soft. 18. "yes, exactly" the man who was opposite me, began to what seemed like, close his argument. "and if you'll take my-no, that's not what-and do you wish for me to bring him here-we can" he was thrown back landing on the work of a white haired boy. "you heard me" he shouted. The boy's work was ruined, but as the man stood he waved his hand over the mess and it went back to what it was. "soon" said the boy with a smile. "Number 9" the voice echoed . "ek-mavi-do-turrr-inmantatt-do-fur-rolos-eno-prolos-evan-sinan-turrrr. And the wind erupted, forcing everyones hair into chaotic movements. Six. "no, wait" the man screamed and jumped right into the center of the nine. Right through it. I had been staring at the woman, waiting for the man to emerge from her eyes. By now the crystals from her palm were like swollen mountains and the gate was naked. Someone placed their hand on my shoulder and I was gone.



Number 9.

Are you single file?

An innate tomb/opaque spaces between us/ beneath lurking, tempting renditions of remembrance/ clearance for the thought/ permission to count cells/ permeating the mist/ if eyed/ must be today for releasing them dreams/ caged up without hope/ drifting this way/ then the other/ by midnight , mass is all confused/ density is wrapped around your warped chest/ sounds huddle/ All embellished a napalm clock/ cloaks the sequence/ Offer me to the moon/ she has pained to birth a twin/ coral of times endangered cousin/ the found nation of stairwells/ close for refurbishing/ refusing/ recollected the day for speculation/ light fits a size exhaled for plasma to collect/ stolen tissue/ All in all, like Russian dolls/ we abstained from futile steps/ We went from A-Z as though they were tied to a string/ who's asking/ no one/ not a damn thing/ a crisis / a chrysalis/ set sail/ months ago/ across the moons labyrinth/ I watched the second hand steal precious jewels from the circular distraction/ twelve angles hand-glide without assistance/ Now I'm all over this graffiti/ grateful to the few/ late for funeral/ they're not fun at all/ Minus the chill in the room/ capitals land blurred edges/ upside always wrong/ cab driver telling the wrong story/ I wish I'd never wrung/ I should have ran/ I did because I didn't/ I ran into a pastor/ a preacher/ he was delivering a sermon/ trumpets/ waking people/ fire from the sky/ angels/ battle/ evil/ and i sighed/ Trapped in his speech bubble/ for being / he had spoken with a burning hot needle and burned the next five years of my life with insanity/ Drowning in his speech bubble/ My every idea burst into argon/ My ideal answer wept beside me also/ Filling the bubble with tears/ When your soul comes out of another mans mouth/ I wonder at the dimensions collected every Thursday/ The beings that take them away/ They laugh at our unfinished melodies/ our melodramatic aquamarine sensibilities/ They speak about these things/ Un-eton letters/ So much can be told by a man's waist/ There are ways to seek truths by asking/ What have you learned by standing?/ mushroom clouded in mystery/ rooms crowded masterfully/ wise as the man who stood/ sour as the hand that feeds you/ until you bled/ The migrating epidemic/ The forgetful genocide/ The comfortable killer.

Jaie Miller is mostly an online artist having been published in various blogs and e-zines. His passion is reading and writing rants and random texts from around the world. He resides in London England and works in a record shop.

 
 
 
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