Sunday, 19 October 2008
Hook of love
Because of what I know about fishing I expect the hook in my cheek, a spiny gobstobber, hauling the right side of my face out of triue like matter tugged into the supermassive sinkdrain of a huge star. But the hook of love can attach itself to any portion of the body; it need not distort the face. More usually it catches in the ribs, like a badly handled bayonet; or pulls the cock long like raw pasta being strung; or wounds the gut.