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luís soares

Blog do escritor Luís Soares

francine j. harris - Anise swallowtail, moulting

He says papillon and you want to take
his word for it.  The thorax is missing its yellow wing.


What do you say when that happens. Muer. he says. He says you thought it meant
woman. But no, he says, and his chin. The slender proboscis drinks nectar.


Like a straw, you say. Yes, he says. Has one ever fallen on your sweat in summer.
won’t always get enough salt, from flower. The ocean, you think. Alive, he says


they are hidden in tree limbs, mimic the bark. You think: yeah, but the trees here
are rotten and burned. and it looks like a moth, torn. Others, he says, sniff the air for stem.


You want to ask: how many fingers to tear up the butterfly. But you know he’ll say
if they are only children, it does not count.  You would smoke from the wingtip


and flame the wing. You say the sun is shot here. Everyone’s on edge. He says
any excuse, you’d trap butterflies in tupperware and ask strangers dumb questions like:


What do you call it when a dead thing’s wing comes off? You say you’d tell someone anyway.
You say you’d get the crying over with. If it was a little girl in dirt, touch her sun-edged hair. Tender


he says, what doesn’t know how to treat limb’s fruit. The same to you. You want the one in the bowl
who has lost her articulated flutter. To stand up to the claws. To fight back. He says, you’d still


snuff it out. Ask any one. You say: your french words make me feel bad. You should ask
if he means it. If he means papillon you. Is he thinking of a dead one. one


that smells of fennel. What would he have called it when he was a boy
in the dirt. tearing wings in the dirt. He says, well then. then, who do we blame.

francine j. harris - she can sort of see herself dangling her toes in the shot

where everyone cums fast because they want to go home. The camera man’s

stomach is growling and he has the hiccups. The gist of today’s shoot is


girl-on-girl in sequins thong with stone edged stream full of guppies. all

different colors. Some guppies have fins. Some of them look stoned.


or maybe it’s boy-on-girl with sequins collars and graffiti ties. sequins anal beads. sequins

lipstick. This shot will involve a small waterfall. the sound of rushing water. There is


the pan out from a helicopter. Some of the grips help drop buckets of fish food.

or, maybe it’s boy-on-boy and all the boys have beards. not cubs or bears or hotbods. but


bloated pot bellies snacked on Pepperidge farm goldfish which make them burp on retakes.

or maybe girl-on-boy, but then he washes her feet in the stream.


The director throws down his shotglass. It breaks. When the fuck


did everyone fall in love, he says. Fortunately, there’s no glass in the stream. There are minnows

under the bottom boy’s earlobes. The girl with the whip in a cupless bra


is brushing his wet chest hair, before it dries to a knot.